


Miss Grey

by LarasLandlockedBlues



Series: Lightning Struck [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Ambiguous Inquisitor, Angst and Feels, Angst fic, Angst with a Happy Ending, Confident Cullen Rutherford, Cullen Has Issues, Cullen Smut, Established Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Heavy Angst, I'm Sorry, Loss of Virginity, On Hiatus, POV Cullen Rutherford, Pining, Protective Cullen Rutherford, Reunion Sex, Tranquil, Tranquil Mage - Freeform, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, non-inquisitor trevelyan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-04-06 15:04:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 44,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14059542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LarasLandlockedBlues/pseuds/LarasLandlockedBlues
Summary: Commander Cullen came to Haven from Kirkwall to join the Inquisition, but he didn't come alone. And no one quite knows what to make of the small Tranquil who follows him wherever he goes, never out of his sight.Rated Explicit for later chapters. Currently on hiatus.





	1. The Commander's Tranquil

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter is POV of an Inquisition Soldier, after that it will be Cullen's POV.

Haven was freezing cold, but then again when wasn’t it?

For a moment he cursed his luck that the sacred Inquisition had to be headquartered in the Frostbacks. Shaking his head he kicked his boots together and looked up at the sky.

The large swirling green Breach caught his eye, though, and the same terror he always felt when he looked at it twisted his stomach.

No – whatever his discomfort keeping patrol in the cold, it was necessary. All of Thedas had gone to shit, and the Herald of Andraste was the only one who could fix it.

He was right where he needed to be.

Renewed in his resolve to tolerate the biting cold of the air, he began to walk along the perimeter of Haven. He looked over the encampment of tents within the village’s walls, at the fires still burning brightly between the walls of canvas.

What he wouldn’t give to go stand beside one…

But he turned and continued walking, intent on doing his part, no matter how small.

For several moments he walked through the darkness, the only sound the wind as it howled through the village. The flaps of the large Command tent ahead of him blew with a gust, and light poured out onto the snowy path.

That meant the Commander was still up, even at this late hour.

He’d heard rumors from the other soldiers, the ones who’d been here longer – the man hardly slept, he worked too hard. And sometimes at night shouts and cries could be heard from his tent. Some of the men said he was disturbed, but every time he’d seen the man all he noticed was an intense weariness, a deep fatigue etched in his face.

As he got nearer he realized he heard the Commander’s baritone voice speaking softly, and he frowned. Surely the man wasn’t still having a meeting at this hour, all of the other officers and advisors were asleep.

It couldn’t be a meeting, he thought as he approached and heard the tone of the Commander’s voice. Soft, gentle – almost choked?

Cautiously he crept forward, curiosity getting the better of him. Who could the Commander be speaking to that way, this late at night? Perhaps he had a lady friend in the tent with him, perhaps he’d wooed one of the serving girls at the tavern.

Couldn’t blame the man for needing a release – it was obvious he was weary to the bone and tense under the weight of his responsibilities.

“Miss – Miss Grey, please, I appreciate the offer of assistance,” the Commander was saying. “But please – do not trouble yourself.”

“Please, my Commander,” a soft, even voice said, and he felt a chill run down his spine to hear it. “It is no trouble.”

Miss Grey.

That was who was in the Command tent with him, and he nodded slightly to himself. He should have realized – after all, he always saw her trailing after the Commander, wherever he went. The Tranquil was never more than a few paces from the Commander, whether carrying his reports for him or simply following wherever he led her.

“You – you should rest, please,” the Commander continued softly. “Just because I am awake does not mean you need to be. It is fine, I can do these myself.”

“I would like to help,” Miss Grey replied in her expressionless voice. “I am more than capable of helping you sort these reports -”

“Maker’s breath, please – I know that you are,” the Commander answered, and there was an odd catch in his voice. “Please, Miss Grey – lie down and go to sleep. I will be fine without your help.”

“Yes, my Commander,” she replied, and a shadow passed across the light spilling out of the Command tent’s flaps onto the snow.

Silence fell, and for a moment he simply stared at the tent flaps swaying in the breeze. She even slept in his tent? Surely not – not in his cot. He knew she helped the Commander with all of his work, but surely it was a professional relationship, not anything untoward.

The rumors he’d heard about the Commander, though – he still wasn’t quite sure what to believe about him. His time in Kirkwall left much up to speculation, especially with what everyone said about things happening in the Gallows. And the Mage Rebellion had started there, and he’d been a part of it…

The Tranquil who followed him around had come with him from Kirkwall, from what he understood. He’d only seen her from a distance, following after the Commander as he hurried to a war council or standing beside him as he oversaw the training of the recruits.

She was small, not even coming to the Commander’s shoulder. Her skin was pale, so pale it almost looked like the snow that surrounded Haven. Her hair was black, chin length – the ends almost looked a little jagged as if they had been cut with a dagger and then allowed to grow out. Even at a distance, the red brand on her forehead was obvious, and he’d heard more than one recruit grumble with discomfort when they saw her.

In the barracks the men called her 'Lady Grey,' mocking the way she spoke and the servile way she followed the Inquisition’s Commander around. He wasn’t sure how she had come to be the Commander’s assistant, and frankly he was too scared to ask.

The last man who had mentioned her to the Commander had been made to run twenty laps around the lake.

Something creaked within the tent and more shadows passed over the light, but before he could hurry away the flaps were thrown open. The Commander charged out, a towel slung over his shoulder. He turned and began to march down the path, but stopped suddenly when he saw the soldier standing not far from his tent.

“Something you need, recruit?” the Commander asked, his voice clipped and irritated.

“N-no, Commander,” he quickly answered, straightening into a salute. “I – I was just patrolling.”

The Commander opened his mouth to speak but footsteps sounded in the snow behind him and before he could say anything, a soft monotone voice interrupted.

“Did you need something?”

A dark, almost pained expression flitted across the Commander’s face and he turned as Miss Grey approached and stopped beside him. She looked up at him for a moment and then glanced at the soldier.

Her expression was blank, neutral – and her large eyes immediately unnerved him until he almost took a step back. Even in the meager light from the fires and the twin moons, the dark, unnatural grey of her eyes was obvious to him. They were dull and lifeless as they fixated on his face before she turned her neutral expression back up to the Commander’s.

“M-Miss Grey, I asked you to go to sleep,” the Commander said, an unusual tenderness in his voice. It was surprising, coming from the man who usually barked orders at his men with ferocity and confidence.

“You seemed like you needed me,” she answered smoothly.

The Commander’s cheeks clenched and flexed for a moment before he shook his head. “Please return to your cot, Miss Grey.”

She nodded. “As you command.”

And with that she turned and walked back into the tent without another word.

For a long moment the Commander stared after her, and then he turned to face the soldier once more.

“Do you plan on standing here all night, or do you have patrols you should be returning to?” he snapped, glaring at the soldier until he nodded and gave one last salute before he hurried off along the path.

When he was far enough away he turned back, and saw the Commander standing still, looking at the flaps of his tent with a curious expression almost like agony on his face. And then he suddenly shook himself and snapped the linen he held in his hand, almost like he was dragging himself from the Command tent in the direction of the bathhouse. Even from this distance, it was clear he was full of frustration and irritation as he walked away.

The rest of the night, the soldier mused over what he had overheard, what he had witnessed. But he wasn’t sure if anyone could explain the curious mystery that surrounded the Commander and Miss Grey.


	2. The Sound of Silence

The silence was almost comfortable to Cullen, or at least it was familiar, _bearable_ by now. In many ways the silence was preferable.

He kept his gaze fixed on the parchment in front of him, on the requisitions that he was filling out. Only a bit more work, and then he’d set out for the day. Recruits still needed training, and later he had a war council. They needed to plan their next move, they needed to decide on their course to close the Breach – and soon.

“My Commander, you haven’t finished the herbal tea I made for you,” a soft voice cut into his musings and he closed his eyes to hear it.

“I will,” he told her, opening his eyes again and resting his forehead in one hand as he reread the same line three times.

“It is best when it is hot, the herbs are at their most potent,” Miss Grey replied, and her small hand reached over to the mug and pushed it toward him.

For a moment he simply stared at her pale, delicate fingers wrapped around it. He clenched his teeth and nodded but didn’t raise his gaze to hers. “Thank you, I will – I will drink it,” he told her again.

With a sigh he reached for the mug, and his fingers accidentally brushed against hers. He quickly pulled his hand back and swallowed hard, instinctively raising his eyes to search her face.

Still – blank, neutral – void of any reaction. But she removed her hand from the mug and replaced it in her lap, folding it with her other hand.

“Are you all right, my Commander?” she asked, tilting her head slightly as she looked at him.

 “I – I am, apologies,” he grumbled, and he snatched the mug up and quickly began to drink it, returning his gaze to the requisitions information in his hand. “M-Miss Grey, could you please find the reports from Captain Rylen about the situation in the Fallow Mire?”

“As you command,” she agreed easily, and began to shuffle through the sheets of vellum she had organized on his desk the previous evening.

Silence fell once more, and Cullen tried his best to focus on the work he had before him. The sound of her searching for the reports kept drawing his attention, though, and he glanced up to watch her covertly for a moment.

Her neutral gaze was scanning reports quickly, setting aside the ones that she needed and keeping the others tidy and in the correct order. She was efficient, and he often found himself grateful for the help, considering how much he had to do.

Every time he thought about that gratitude, though, something deep inside him twisted painfully.

Convincing Cassandra to let her accompany him as his assistant had been easy, considering how useful Tranquil were. He thought back on Elsa, the Tranquil who assisted Meredith – always so eager to serve, always so eager to take on every bit of work.

Even when that bit of work was detrimental to mages.

He glanced at Miss Grey across from him again, frowning slightly as he took in the competence she was exhibiting as she found what he needed.

What must people think of him, having a Tranquil follow him just as Elsa had followed after Meredith?

He needed her though – even if no one could ever understand why.

“Here you are,” she said, holding out the reports to him.

He locked eyes with her, as if by instinct, instead of the way he always tried to avoid them.

“Thank you, Miss Grey,” he murmured, transfixed by the dark grey of her eyes as they peered at him.

It was as if time stilled, golden eyes boring into dull, lifeless grey. He wanted more than anything to look away, but he couldn’t.

A name came to his tongue but he bit it and finally dragged his gaze down from hers, back to the requisitions in his hand.

“Can I assist with anything else, my Commander?” she asked.

He closed his eyes, listening to the tone of her voice, and the name – the name she called him.

_Don’t, don’t, please._

“I – I need to get ready for the day,” he said instead, and gathered his reports before he stood.

It was the same routine, but it irritated him like it was the first time. She stood patiently beside him, handing him the pieces of his armor to pull on over his loose shirt and breeches. Occasionally she helped him with a buckle when she noticed his hands shaking.

And yet her face was calm, still and unmoving even when she touched him.

He could feel his jaw clench, his cheeks tighten.

“Thank you, Miss Grey, I – I can finish the rest of them,” he almost snapped, brushing her hands aside so that he could finish his armor himself – even though he struggled.

She stood beside him, her hands clasped in front of herself, waiting for his next direction.

The sight nearly enraged him.

“I need to go to the training grounds,” he told her. “Follow me.”

He began to lead her out of the tent, and then immediately chided himself when he looked back at her. She peered up at him, her eyes still dull even under the bright sunlight, her hands still clasped in front of him as she waited patiently for him to say something.

“Your – your cloak, please, Miss Grey. We’ll be out at the training grounds for most of the day,” he encouraged her gently, trying to hide the irritation from his voice.

_Do Tranquil even notice when they’re cold?_

She nodded and walked back into the tent, emerging a moment later as she pulled the dark cloak around her shoulders. She looked up at him expectantly once more, waiting for him to lead her.

The cloak was pulled up slightly over one shoulder, and before he could stop himself he reached over and fixed it.

And still, she simply stared up at him, no recognition coming into her face.

With a snarl he turned and walked quickly through Haven to the gate, taking long, hurried strides to reach the clamor of the training grounds. He hoped it could drown out the sound of silence hanging over him like a funeral shroud.

Perhaps he yelled at the men too much – perhaps he expected too much of them too soon. But they’d been at this for months, and it was his duty to make certain they were ready for whatever was next for the Inquisition.

As he stood there yelling orders and corrections to them, though, he noticed that an ache was beginning in his head, his hands shaking. And he was pointedly ignoring his assistant standing beside him, trying to keep the pain from worsening.

“It is past midday, my Commander – the war council will be soon,” her soft voice said from beside him after what felt like an eternity of shouting at the training soldiers.

He glanced down at her to see her eyes fixed up on the sky, and then she turned to look at him. “Th-thank you, Miss Grey. I lost track of time.”

She made no reply.

With a grimace he turned and began to lead the way back into Haven, to meet with them. He hoped the Herald would hear him out, that they would listen to him about the Templars –

He thought about the mages and Tevinter, though, and scowled. How could they be so foolish? Rebelling against one set of masters, just to accept another.

“Do you need any more reports?” Miss Grey asked, and he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

“No, thank you,” he told her.

Again, there was no follow up. He had answered her question, and she wondered nothing beyond that.

Silence, all the way to the war council. And once inside, once he stood listening to the reports, to the other advisors – all he really heard was silence.

A memory of laughter flitted across his mind, but he tightened his hand on the pommel of his sword and refocused on what the Herald was saying.

The rest of the war council, he could feel the scowl blackening on his face, his hands shaking and gripping his sword more tightly. His voice raised when he didn’t mean for it to as he tried to make his point, but the presence of silence beside him was setting him on edge.

Finally when a decision was made, he grabbed the new reports he had to go over and swiftly circled the table, marching out of the room. Soft, quick footsteps followed him, taking several steps to his one.

He didn’t turn, he couldn’t look back at his shadow. Instead he made his way through the darkness to his tent.

How many hours had they argued in the war room? He wasn’t quite sure if it had felt like an eternity or barely five minutes.

The softest – _crunch – crunch – crunch_  - of footsteps.

He could hear it behind him, and the sound made his teeth grind together until they began to drown it out.

Otherwise – silence.

It was late enough when he returned to his tent that he simply sat at his desk and began to work. More requisitions – more reports – more orders.

A chair was pulled beside him, and she sat, her hands folded in her lap as she watched him.

“Might I help, my Commander?”

“N-no, I am fine.”

“You seem distressed – are you in pain?”

_Always._

“As I said, I am fine.”

“Do you need me to mix the oakmoss and elderflower cream?”

He opened his mouth to protest, staring unseeing for a moment at the parchment he held. But the idea the suggestion put in his mind drove away his refusal.

“Yes, please, Miss Grey,” he answered, trying to keep his voice even. “Thank you.”

She stood and began to move about, and he kept himself from watching her progress. The sound and smell of her preparing the cream filled the tent, and he found his eyes unfocused and his gaze blurry as he felt himself flooded with anticipation.

_Maker – it’s not right, tell her no –_

“Your armor,” she said simply when she stopped beside him at the desk, setting a mortar and pestle full of the cream on the desk.

For a moment he closed his eyes and considered telling her to forget about it. But another memory drifted back to him, and he caved.

Pushing himself to his feet he began to work on the clasps and buckles of his armor, and he walked and stopped beside his armor stand. Miss Grey followed and halted next to him, reaching up to help with a few clasps.

“I – I am fine, please,” he murmured, his voice catching on the words. “I don’t need any help.”

“Your hands are shaking.”

There was no concern in the tone - it was just a statement.

“I can remove it,” he closed his eyes and steadied himself for a moment.

_Just tell her to get in her cot for the night._

But instead he continued to remove his armor, and he didn’t say anything more. She moved to stand beside the bed, picking up the mortar and pestle as she passed it.

He kept his breeches on, just as he always did – some nights he worried what would happen if he allowed himself that freedom.

It was better to keep himself confined.

When he was finally out of his armor he moved slowly to his cot, his gaze flicking between it and Miss Grey. Again, she made no comment and instead patiently waited.

He didn’t say anything, and sat on the edge of the cot for a moment before he grumbled and rolled onto his stomach.

Stretching himself out, he folded his arms under his head and buried his face in his pillow. He tried to steady himself, he tried to keep himself from reacting. His lips were aching from how hard he was pressing them together, his teeth leaving marks on the inside of them.

It was the softest touch, the small, delicate hands moving across his skin. The cream was cold on his skin and he could feel it tighten and prick with goose bumps in response.

Or was it response to the touch?

After spreading the cream across his back, her hands began to press harder into his muscles, searching out kinks and knots and working them out. She was always so much stronger than he expected, able to make him moan and groan as she worked on him, keeping him in the balance between pleasure and pain as she kneaded out his stress.

He felt the cot creak as she knelt on it, trying to focus harder on a trouble spot in the middle of his back, digging in with her thumbs and leaning her meager weight into it.

Groaning in response he buried his face harder against his arms and the pillow, muffling the noise until he was almost suffocating himself to resist.

He couldn't.

Her small hands slid up to his neck and then into his hair and around to his temples. She was practiced, she knew – so easily she found every spot that ached, that was tensed and causing him pain.

A name came to his lips again but he bit his tongue until he tasted blood, not allowing himself to moan it.

He could never bring himself to say that name again.

Instead he allowed himself this indulgence, this weakness – he let himself enjoy the feeling of her hands on him, soft and small but so powerful. They conjured memories in his mind until he again clenched his eyes shut and warred with himself.

_Tell her to stop._

_No – let her._

Caught in indecision, he simply let her continue to work through his knotted back and help ease the aches of his body. It was beyond selfish, but he caved.

He couldn’t resist the feeling.

The memories it conjured made him hate himself, though, and when she finally slowed after what must have been an hour he raised his head.

“Did I miss anywhere, my Commander?” Miss Grey questioned.

His brows knitted together and he shut his eyes for a moment.

_Laughter – teasing – the memory of humor in the tone._

He rolled over and stared at her, his eyes wandering over her face, over the jagged edges of her chin length hair. Memories of when it had been shorter came to mind, but he pushed them aside.

They were too painful, though not as painful as the memories of it long, hanging around her face and down her back like a soft sheet of midnight.

The red sunburst brand on her forehead caught his eye and he stared at it, his insides twisting as he remembered.

“My Commander?” she asked softly, as if she was curious why he hadn’t answered her.

He opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out.

Instead he reached out and took her dainty hand in his – and lifted it to his lips, pressing a fierce kiss to her palm.

She almost quirked an eyebrow at him, tilting her head the slightest bit in response.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Miss Grey asked softly.


	3. My Name

Warm skin pressed to him, a gentle weight pressing down on him in the form of tempting curves against his chest.

“The sun is almost risen,” a soft voice murmured. “You should wake up.”

“Not yet,” he answered sleepily and wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to him without opening his eyes. “I don’t want you to leave yet.”

She hummed softly and rested her cheek on his chest, rubbing it against the dusting of hair he had across it. “But I need to, darling.”

He smirked and peeked an eye open, and was greeted by the sight of long black hair strewn across his shoulder and arm. Inhaling deeply he smelled rain, the scent almost overwhelming his senses.

“What you need is to stay, dearest,” he insisted, tightening his arms around her.

Soft laughter, a chorus of heavenly giggles greeted his words as she wiggled in his embrace. “You’ll be the death of me, Cullen.”

“What?” he asked, frowning sharply.

She pushed out of his arms and propped herself above him, black hair falling to hang around his face and block his vision until all he could see was _her_.

Only – no, her eyes – her forehead –

“I said you’ll be the death of me,” she said again, and her voice had changed, suddenly even and flat.

No more giggles sounded, and her face was expressionless –

He sat up with a jolt, his heart racing and sweat coating his forehead. Looking around wildly he jumped out of bed, spinning in place as he tried to get his bearings.

The Command tent, and it was light out. How long had he slept? Was he late? Was anyone looking for him?

He was breathing fast, trying to steady himself but he couldn’t, instead he felt panic rising in his chest.

“Are you all right, my Commander?”

Pain tore through him at the voice, and he turned to see her standing behind him, her dull grey eyes staring up at him like two endless voids.

Before he could stop himself he took two strides until he was right in front of her, so close she had to crane her neck to continue peering up at him. He grabbed her arms, his fingers tightening around them as he pulled her against him.

The smell of soap filled his nostrils, erasing the memory of the refreshing scent of a spring storm.

He wanted to shake her, he wanted to make her have some sort of reaction.

He wanted to hear her voice – _her_ voice, not _this_ – this horrible imitation of it.

Yet even though he was holding her so tightly he was certain he was bruising her, she had no reaction.

Just dull, lifeless eyes.

Desperation filled him as he stared down at her, still shaken by the dream, by the sound of her giggling.

By the sound of her saying –

He lifted one hand and gripped her jaw, keeping her face tilted up to him. “S-say my name,” he breathed. “Say it, say it, say it…”

A moment’s pause, and then –

“My Commander? What is wrong?”

“That is the wrong name,” he gritted out, and he lowered his forehead to hers, resting against it as he clenched his eyes shut. “Do you even know? Do you remember?”

“Remember?”

“B-before, before they did this to you,” he whispered, and he felt tears gathering behind his closed eyelids.

“It distresses you,” she answered evenly. “You asked me to never speak of it.”

“Please,” he murmured, his voice almost choking on the word.

Silence greeted his plea.

“Say my name.”

“You made me promise not to.”

He ground his teeth, and for a moment his fingers tightened on her jaw.

“Please, my Commander, you are – your fingers – I am,” there was a pause before the word, “uncomfortable.”

With a growl he released her and turned away.

_You’ll be the death of me._

_Wouldn’t death have been better than this?_

“I – I apologize, I – I had a nightmare,” he said, trying to collect his thoughts, to marshal his emotions.

“Would you like for me to bring you the herbal tea?”

He dragged a hand over the lower half of his face as he struggled with himself for a moment. “Yes, please, Miss Grey. I would like that.”

He kept his back turned to her as he took deep breaths, listening to her move around the tent in the corner where her herbs were stored. Distracting himself with a reminder to ask her to check her stock in case she needed anything, he heaved a sigh and shook his head.

Dreams were only dreams.

And they were all he had left now.

His shirt was thrown over the back of his chair and he snatched it on and yanked it over his head. Burying himself in reports would help him forget, would help him block out the memory, the sound of her giggle.

The sound of his name.

When she handed him the mug of tea, he took it from her carefully – ensuring that he didn’t touch her at all. The morning was spent in silence, as he filled reports and requisitions, and she sat silently beside him.

The tea helped, but only as much as tea could. His head still throbbed, the scent of rain still clung to him like a cloud.

Reports didn’t help, and with a growl he pushed himself away from his desk and marched to his armor stand, pulling the pieces off with frustration. She moved to stand beside him, and again tried to hand him his armor – always in the same order.

She knew it so well.

He wanted to snap at her, he wanted to push her away, to ask her not to help him. But when he met her grey eyes her blank expression cooled his rage.

What else did she ever do but help him, because it was her duty?

So instead he clenched his jaw, his cheeks flexing, and he gritted out, “Thank you, Miss Grey.”

After he was fully armored he pulled his mantle over his shoulders, and instinctively her fingers reached up to fasten it.

_Delicate fingers fastened the buckle of his pauldron, a smirk tugging up the corner of her mouth. “They make you wear so much armor, to face tiny mages like me.”_

_“It wasn’t enough, was it? You still wounded me, cut me to the core – how is it you managed to steal my heart so easily?”_

_He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight, cursing the armor between them. She giggled, carefree and happy – she glanced up –_

“Thank you, Miss Grey, I – I can fasten it,” he said and he took a step back from her to remove her fingers from him. “Please, put on your cloak – we will be at the training grounds all day.”

She nodded once and turned,  crossing the tent to the small trunk that she kept her few personal belongings in. He watched her stoop and remove her cloak, unfolding it from the careful, meticulous way it was stored.

Her cloak on and pulled across her shoulders, she stepped beside him and waited – patiently – silently.

Clenching and unclenching his fists he took a moment to simply breathe before he turned and led the way out of the tent. He was nearly shaking all over, but for once it wasn’t the withdrawals.

Anger, frustration, irritation all coursed through him as he marched through Haven, ignoring the small shadow that stayed behind him.

If he looked at her now, he’d only crack.

His commands were roars, his corrections harsh – and more than once he pulled a recruit’s sword out of their hand and struck their shield with it. The soldiers almost cowered, looking confused as the Commander unleashed his rage on them.

“You’d think Lady Grey could do something to help him out,” one of the recruits snickered nearby, covering his mouth with his hand to try to hide his laughter.

Unfortunately he’d spoken too loudly – and Cullen turned to face him, a scowl blackening his face as he locked eyes with the recruit who had spoken.

“Twenty laps, soldier – full armor, and carry your shield,” he gritted out, the words muffled from the way he was speaking through his clenched teeth.

The recruit’s eyes widened as the amber gaze of the Commander bored into his, and then he stuttered out a terrified, “Y-Yes, Ser,” and hurried off to follow orders.

After that, no one said a word. No one flinched when the Commander continued to shout at them, to yell harsh corrections laced with swears.

And no one dared look in the direction of the small woman who stood not far from where they trained, watching everything happening as if she were unaware any of it was transpiring around her.

Cullen pushed the men and trained them until late in the evening, finally relenting when they were having problems seeing their sparring partners in the green light given off by the Breach. He shouted orders for training to begin at dawn, and then turned and walked quickly through the snow, passing the gates to find his way to his tent.

_Crunch – crunch – crunch._

Soft as always, the footsteps of his shadow followed him wherever he went. Gritting his teeth he pushed into his tent and immediately began to pull his mantle and armor off, suddenly feeling stifled by it.

Stifled by duty.

Stifled by regret and all of the events that had led him here.

She stood beside him and picked up the pieces of armor where he dropped them, hanging them carefully on the stand instead.

Shame coursed through him as he watched her cleaning up after him, so quietly, so obediently – without a word about his temper, not a single question about why he was acting the way he did.

Self-loathing pooled in his belly and he felt his mouth go dry when he opened it to apologize, or thank her. No words came out, and he snapped his mouth shut, instead walking over to his desk.

But no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t focus. She finished hanging his armor and mantle, polishing a few pieces of the metal that had gotten scuffed. When she was through she finally moved to take off her cloak, again folding it meticulously before she replaced it in her trunk.

Crossing to her small supply of herbs she began to look over them, her fingers separating them and moving over them as if inspecting. She pulled a piece of parchment toward her and marked things carefully with a quill, her small hand moving slowly as she counted.

When she was through she turned and walked over to him, and held out the list she had made. “As you requested, the list of supplies I require, my Commander.”

“Thank you, Miss Grey,” he murmured, and he took the list from her and set it aside. “I will make certain we replenish them for -”

As he spoke he heard a growl and he frowned for a moment, until he realized it was her stomach.

“Miss Grey, are you hungry?” he asked, throwing down his quill.

“Yes, my Commander,” she answered smoothly.

He sat back in his chair and bit back the curse on his tongue, instead taking a deep breath. “Please, Miss Grey – tell me, in the future.”

“You were busy, and it was unimportant.”

Looking up he locked eyes with the dull grey voids, absorbing her words and hating them.

“It is important,” he murmured, his voice catching. “You can always – always bother me for nourishment.”

She nodded once. “As you command.”

For a moment he simply closed his eyes, hating the words.

Hating the tone of the voice saying them.

Hating himself.

She followed him as he walked briskly across Haven to the tavern, and stood silently beside him as he acquired food for both of them. Helping carry it back, she walked behind him, the soft _crunch_ of her small feet in the snow the only sound he could hear.

They ate at his desk in silence as he looked over more reports. When they were finished she cleaned up after them, and then moved to sit on the edge of her cot.

“My Commander?”

“Yes, Miss Grey?” he sighed, rubbing his forehead with the hand it was resting on.

“Do you require anything else this evening?”

His teeth clenched, his eyes shut.

He couldn’t focus, but he wasn’t in pain. At least not pain she could help him with as she usually did.

“N-no, I do not,” he answered. “Please, feel free to seek your rest.”

“Thank you.”

Her cot creaked slightly as she laid down on it, but he didn’t glance to the side to look at her. He couldn’t, he couldn’t see her curled up as she always was in sleep – the long dark eyelashes resting on her cheek. When her eyes were closed, he could almost imagine, that maybe they weren’t grey, maybe they were –

He swallowed hard and didn’t let himself look, not allowing the fantasy. All it did was cause more pain.

It felt like hours passed, but he lost track and wasn’t certain how long he tried to work and avoid looking at the small cot nestled in the corner of the tent.

_Cullen._

The sound of the voice from his dream haunted him, taunting him as he tried to work until his vision was plagued with memories. He could see the smile, hear the laughter – feel her skin under his hand, the way it had tingled when he touched her.

Work was impossible. His mind was unwilling to let him rest, unwilling to let him think about anything except for regret, except for the hatred he felt.

His hands were shaking, and he had to blink back moisture threatening to escape down his cheeks.

Finally he cracked, and he looked to the side at the corner he always avoided.

She was peaceful in slumber, but not the way she normally was. For once, she almost looked like –

Before he could stop himself he stood and crossed to the cot, his vision blurring behind the tears swimming in it. His fingers lightly brushed her cheek, along the soft curve of her cheekbone.

Her skin was soft, so smooth – not a blemish on it, except for the sun branded onto her forehead. And yet even though it was the softest skin he had ever felt it was missing something.

_She had tingled, when he touched her – tantalizing, he couldn’t get enough of the feeling after that first moment, the first time he brushed against her cheek._

Her eyes fluttered open – dull grey frowned up at him.

“Do you need something?” she asked.

He shouldn’t – he needed to bear this, he was doomed to bear this alone, without comfort.

But he wasn’t a good man, no – he was a weak man. He had been weak then – and he was weak now.

“Miss Grey,” he began softly, his voice choking on the emotion he was struggling to hide. “I – I need -”

Still she stared at him.

“Might I hold you – please – while I fall asleep?”

His voice was barely audible, and a tear finally slid down his cheek as he watched her neutral gaze. No recognition, no reaction to his words – not shock, not excitement, not understanding.

“As you command,” she answered, and she pushed herself to the side of the cot to make room for him.

“N-no, it’s – it’s not a command,” he corrected. “Please, if you do not wish -”

“It is fine,” she looked up at him, and he couldn’t notice any change in her eyes after his correction.

_Don’t – don’t._

But he knelt on the edge of the cot and lay down on his side, pulling her into his arms, tight against his bare chest. Closing his eyes he inhaled deeply, but only soap and the lingering smell of herbs greeted him.

The black hair didn’t cover as much of his shoulder, its uneven ends only covering his chest right where she laid. But from this angle, he couldn’t see the brand, or her eyes.

She could almost be like –

“Please, s-say my name, Miss Grey,” he begged softly, a few tears chasing their way down his cheeks.

“Is this helping your pain, my Commander?”

A sob escaped his throat as he tightened his arms and buried his face against her hair. “No, it isn’t.”


	4. I Was Living in the Cold, I'm Coming Home

“Under what banner?”

“None.”

“None?”

The warning bells were still ringing, villagers running away from the gates. The celebrations had come to a sudden halt, the shouts of joy turning quickly to shouts of warning and screams of terror.

A pounding knock sounded on the gates, and the Herald rushed forward to it, looking hesitant until a voice called out.

Cullen’s heart was racing, his mind churning. He needed to rally their forces, he needed to figure out how to protect the village, the villagers, and the Inquisition. That was his duty.

One of his duties.

He turned to look behind him, staring at the small cloaked figure waiting patiently for directions. Haven was under attack, and Miss Grey was staring blandly around her.

He couldn’t take her with him, he needed to defend the village and coordinate the battle that was sure to come. She would be in danger – but he couldn’t let her out of his sight, what if something happened to her?

_I promise, nothing will ever happen to you._

_Not again – I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again._

_You have my word, for what little it’s worth._

“Commander?”

Cullen glanced up at Josephine, realizing what he’d have to do.

“Amb – Josephine, please, take Miss Grey with you to the Chantry,” he requested, noticing the way her eyes widened slightly. “Miss Grey – please, stay with the Ambassador, do not leave her side until I – until I can fetch you.”

She looked up at him and nodded once, and then turned to look at Josephine, ready to follow her lead. Josephine stood for a moment, peering at Cullen as if she wanted to say something, but then she shook her head and reached down for Miss Grey’s hand.

The pair hurried away, and for a moment Cullen stood staring after them, his insides twisting uncomfortably.

_You need to coordinate._

He shook himself, dragging his gaze away from the retreating figures, forcing himself to trust that Josephine would look after her.

The sight of the Templars – and from a distance their foe – this _Elder One_ , was enough to rattle Cullen. It had been enough to see the rebel mages join them, to watch bitterly as they helped the Herald close the Breach. To watch them negotiate as allies…

“Commander?”

The Herald was speaking, asking for a plan.

_What use is it? How will we survive that horde?_

_Should we even try?_

Instead he began giving orders, he began to coordinate and rally the forces as he should – even though he saw very little chance of survival.

_Wouldn’t death be better than this?_

He thought it as he fought, as he tried to help push back the Templars who were charging forward. Templars twisted with red lyrium, acting as if they had gone mad.

Was this the fate of the Order? Was this the fate of what he had dedicated so many years of his life to? The Order that had taken so much from him, had made him sacrifice so much?

He fought hard and yet he wondered why – duty to the Inquisition, to Thedas – that was all that kept him going. Every time he pictured dull grey eyes – he wanted to lay down his sword.

Exhaustion coursed through him, the waves of Templars seemingly endless – and then a terrible roar rent the air and he glanced up.

A dragon – a dragon was flying over Haven, over the battle.

_What chance do we have now?_

He called the retreat, insisting everyone get within Haven’s walls – but what protection could that offer? What could they do against a dragon, and an army of Red Templars?

“At this point – just make them work for it,” Cullen told the Herald, and then he turned and hurried his way through the village, fighting as he tried to make his way there.

He needed to get to the Chantry, he needed to see her – one last time.

That was all he could ask for.

When he hurried into the Chantry he looked around, trying to find her, trying to see. But a voice shouted from behind him and he turned to see the Herald hurrying toward him.

“Herald, there are no tactics to make this survivable,” Cullen said, his tone steely.

_Accept it._

_Accept it like you should have, years ago._

“The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide,” he suggested.

Eyes widened around him, grim looks met his gaze.

_I’m tired – I’ve accepted it._

“We’re dying – but we can decide how. Many don’t get that choice,” he insisted.

But the Herald hadn’t accepted what he had – no one else had.

They still had hope – and Cullen tried to remember the last time he’d had any.

Even Chancellor Roderick, the pompous ass, sitting there dying – even he had more hope than Cullen.

Duty – it was always just duty that kept him going, since that was all he had. He was the Commander of the Inquisition, and so he called for everyone to make their way through the Chantry and gave orders to their forces to assist the Herald.

Then he made his way through, making certain everyone was following the correct path, that they were hurrying. They needed to reach above the tree lines.

He couldn’t see her or Josephine, but the crowds were chaos. He thought at one point he caught sight of golden silk and dark hair – and he let himself latch onto the small notion that it was them so that he could keep going.

Even though a part of him wanted to take the Herald’s place burying Haven.

He could have taken her with him, held her to him as they faced their fate together – as they should have years ago.

_I should have gone instead – I should have just let this be the end._

_They can survive all of this without me, they have others who could command._

_Rylen, Cassandra – others could get them through. I’m not necessary._

“Light the signal,” he ordered when they were above the trees. “Inquisition – m-move on, quickly.”

The cold didn’t bother him, the march didn’t bother him. But a new guilt was added to his list of sins as he thought about the Herald, as he thought about what they were doing so that he could survive.

What was one more sin, considering the multitudes he already carried?

Hours passed as they tried to get further away, to safety – in case there were more forces in the surrounding areas. But nothing attacked them, and soon they reached a spot where they could begin to unload the carts and set up camp.

“Perhaps the Herald made it,” Cassandra mused near him, but her voice was strained.

“Perhaps,” he nodded, but his eyes were scanning the crowd, he was looking for her, he needed to ensure she was – safe? Or was he hoping something had happened, that maybe she was finally at peace –

“Commander,” an accented voice called from behind him.

He turned quickly and looked, greeted by the sight of golden silk ruffles. Beside her, still holding her hand – Miss Grey, whose endless voids fixated on him with no relief or recognition evident.

“The – the Herald, do we know?” Josephine asked, her brows furrowed and her eyes almost swimming with tears.

“I – no, we have no way of knowing yet,” he answered, but his gaze was lost in dull, lifeless grey. “Thank you, Josephine, for – for escorting Miss Grey.”

“It was no trouble, Commander,” Josephine assured him, finally releasing the hand she held. “She – she was – is she able to speak?”

The question almost seemed like it escaped Josephine before she meant for it to, and she flushed pink.

“Apologies, I just – she never said a word, I was wondering if she could,” Josephine hurried to explain. “But she is fine, we managed to make it easily, no – no harm came to her.”

Cullen ignored the question Josephine had let slip and he nodded as he reached for Miss Grey’s shoulder, clasping it tightly as if to reassure himself. “Thank you, again, Ambassador,” he said, and he turned to march Miss Grey away from the curious gaze of the other woman.

He didn’t stop walking until he reached the tent that had been set up for them, and he pushed through the flaps, finally turning to face her once they were inside. Clasping her other shoulder with his hand he pulled her close against him and stared down at her, letting his eyes wander as he evaluated her.

“Are you all right, E – Miss Grey?” he asked, his voice catching slightly as he almost stuttered out the wrong form of address. He hadn’t fully realized how scared he was, but now his heart was racing and his insides twisted until he almost wondered if he was going to be sick.

“It was an uncomfortable experience, my Commander,” she answered him evenly, her face showing none of the discomfort she spoke of. “I would not like for it to repeat. But otherwise I am fine.”

“And Josephine – was she right, you did not say anything to anyone?” he demanded, his fingers tightening slightly.

“Yes, as you have commanded me,” she told him.

“Th-thank you, Miss Grey,” he breathed out a sigh of relief, and before he could stop himself he pulled her into his arms. Holding her close against his armor, he clenched his eyes shut and buried his nose against her hair. “And you were not injured?”

“No, my Commander,” came her muffled monotone.

“Were you scared?”

But he received no answer.

“We – we will be staying here, no doubt you are tired,” he said, releasing her from his hold and stepping back. He swallowed hard and looked away from her. “Please, take the cot and seek your rest, Miss Grey. I – I have work that needs to be done.”

“I could help -”

“No – I would rather you stay here,” he shook his head. “Please – get into the cot.”

“As you command,” she replied and she moved to the sole cot in the tent. There was no blanket, and she wrapped her cloak more tightly about herself before she curled up on it.

Immediately she closed her eyes, and seemed to slide into sleep as soon as she did.

For several long moments he simply watched her, and then he noticed that every breath fogged the air before her face, and her skin was pricking with gooseflesh.

Would she tell him if she was cold?

He wasn’t certain they had any blankets, and so he quickly unfastened his mantle and pulled it from his shoulders. Crossing to the cot he laid it over her and began to tuck it around her.

_She stretched where she lay, her back arching as her eyelashes fluttered. “Is it morning, darling?”_

_“No – I was just getting some water,” he told her and he set the cup down on the nightstand. “And then I got distracted – by the beautiful, tempting, naked nymph in my bed.”_

_She giggled and rolled to her side to face where he was kneeling on the bed. Her skin was so pale she almost glowed in the moonlight coming in through the window, her long black hair strewn across the pillow behind her._

_He leaned over her, his hand moving along her cheek, feeling the slight tingling against his palm and fingers. She was staring up at him, desire reflecting back at him in eyes that shone –_

He lifted his hand from where he was absently stroking her cheek, as if trying to recreate his memories.

Despair and disappointment flooded him as he left the tent, thinking about how much work needed to be done.

_Where would they go? What would they do?_

They were questions he hadn’t thought before, but now he needed to find answers and solutions to them – instead of spending his time wishing he’d been swallowed by an avalanche.


	5. Know You'll Stay Near Me

There was so much to be done, but two sets of hands helped it go faster. The larger pieces of furniture that required more strength to move Rylen helped with, or even one or two scouts.

But his office was becoming more organized, his desk set up so that he could actually focus when he was working. Sitting on the ground or in Josephine’s office for the first week had been trying.

Now though he almost missed the bustle and noise that was present in Josephine’s office. Although they were getting work done, all that cut through the silence of his office was the rustling of parchment, the sound of her soft footsteps as she moved along the bookshelves.

Her organization was meticulous – she was putting his books and references on the shelves but he knew he would never be able to match the system she was setting up. When he glanced over her shoulder he could tell she had them grouped perfectly, and that finding anything he needed would be easier than he could imagine.

In one corner of the office he set up her herbs, a small table with candles and everything she needed to practice alchemy. A small stool sat before it, several books and sheets of parchment covered in her careful notes stacked on one corner of the table. While she organized his bookshelf, he worked to make certain her alchemy corner was well stocked and established.

He hoped it could make her happy, in some small way. She seemed to enjoy feeling useful – he could at least give her that.

They worked for several hours in silence, trying to get everything that was ordered and found for his office in place. There was still more to do, though, and he cleared his throat.

“Miss Grey – would you please accompany me up to the loft?” he asked, standing back from the ladder so that he could make certain she climbed it safely.

He wasn’t sure why he worried quite so much – how many days had they wandered in the snowy Frostbacks, and she had been steadfast and surefooted? She never complained about the cold or the lack of food – although he could tell that she had lost some weight from their meager rations.

He was still trying to feed her and help her gain it back, insisting some evenings on second portions because he didn’t like the thin, pallid look she had acquired since they left Haven.

Once they were both standing in the loft, he asked her to help him make up the new bed that was built for him up here. She also began to organize his trunk, folding the shirts and breeches that were there.

When they finished straightening the room she stood for a moment looking blankly over the loft, and then turned dull grey eyes up to look at him. “My Commander, where will I be staying, now that we are here?”

He frowned at her, confused for a moment. “Th-that bed, there – that is for you, Miss Grey,” he pointed to the corner where he had a small, single bed put. There was a trunk at the base of it, and he remembered that he would need to buy her new clothes as well, since she lost all of hers in Haven.

“That is mine?” she asked, looking between the bed and his golden eyes.

“Yes – Miss Grey, do you – do you not recall?” he took a few steps toward her, staring down into the endless voids of her eyes. “What did I tell you, all that time ago?”

For a moment she stared blankly at him and then she nodded once. “Know that you will stay near me,” she repeated, and he smiled sadly despite himself, remembering.

 

**9:37 Dragon**

 

The door to the Gallows slammed against the wall after he threw it open, and he began his march down the hall.

Blood covered the hall, proof of the fighting that took place there as it dripped in rivulets off the walls. And he matched the crimson color, his armor covered in it – his sword dripping blood from its edge as he walked.

“Cullen – what are you doing? We need to figure this out -”

“You should get going,” Cullen answered, not turning around despite the footsteps pounding behind him.

“Not until we figure this out – you just – I mean what are you going to do? Kirkwall is in chaos -”

“No thanks to your friend, Hawke,” he gritted out, finally glancing over his shoulder to glare at her.

Her usually bouncy golden curls were tangled, splatters of blood coating the locks. Her hazel eyes were surrounded by dark circles, a bruise showing up on her golden skin from where she took a punch from a Templar.

“If I knew Anders was planning that – Maker, Cullen, I would have done something,” Hawke insisted, taking a few quick steps to catch up with him. She opened her mouth to continue arguing, but a scuffle sounded down the hall to their left and they both froze.

“Come along – we have to go, they’ll kill us all -”

“I would prefer not to, please – let me go.”

The second voice was flat – devoid of fear even in the midst of everything going on. Hearing it was like having a knife twist in his belly, more painful than any hit he had just taken in battle.

He hurried around the corner, his hand tightening on his sword. Painful as it was, it was the sound he had been searching for.

It was one of the mages – he looked rattled, and he had his hands gripping the arms of someone else – someone with short, choppy black hair.

“Please – I do not wish to go with you,” the person deadpanned, trying to step back from the man holding her.

“Maker – it’s the – come on!” the man tried to run again when he saw Cullen, but still the black-haired figure resisted letting him lead them.

“Let her go,” Cullen demanded, hurrying forward and brandishing his sword.

“Knight-Captain please – we were all innocent, you can’t – you can’t kill us!” the man almost squeaked, finally releasing where he held the other person. “Please – let us go -”

“Go,” he gritted out, glaring at the man. “I don’t care – but leave _her_ here.”

The man barely hesitated before he turned and ran, no longer caring about his efforts to save the woman he had stood beside.

Cullen watched the man retreat down the hall and then finally turned, dread filling him as he looked over the petite woman standing there. She stared after the mage for a few moments before she turned to face he and Hawke.

“Maker’s – _fuck_ – Cullen, you – it’s -” Hawke raised a hand to cover her mouth as she simply stared. “You – you told me she was – why didn’t you tell me?”

But he didn’t answer, instead he stepped forward and looked over the face. He hadn’t seen it, not this close up, not since –

He shook himself, trying to push the memory aside, but his hands began to shake and his breathing became short and fast. The memory was too recent, too horrible – and again he felt more pain than the battle he had just fought.

“Ev-Evelyn?” Hawke tried, stepping forward and reaching out for the other woman’s shoulders. “Do – fuck, are you all right? Can you – were you injured? I -”

Hawke’s voice cracked and suddenly she couldn’t continue, horror evident on her face as she worried her lower lip and fought tears.

“What did they do to you?” she whispered, and Cullen watched as her fingers dug into where they were holding the other woman, her eyes staring fixated at the brand, the color of the eyes – the butchered black hair. “Cullen – you told me they sent her away. You let me believe she was just – that she was back at Ostwick, or in Ferelden -”

“I – I couldn’t -” but he couldn’t finish the explanation.

_I couldn’t say it aloud – I can’t think of it._

The scream from that day tore through his mind, until he almost thought he would be sick.

“Is the fighting over?” the monotone voice asked suddenly, and dull, lifeless grey eyes peered up into his and Hawke’s faces.

“Y-yes, for now,” Hawke answered softly. “Oh, Evelyn – you didn’t deserve this. No one does – but you least of all.”

“Hawke, you need to be going,” Cullen tried to tell her, but she was stepping closer to Evelyn, still peering down into her face.

“No wonder, Cullen,” she said, ignoring his comments. “No wonder you attacked Meredith so intently, no wonder you looked like one or the other of you needed to die.”

Cullen swallowed hard, feeling his cheeks flexing as he thought it.

 _I’ve never wanted to kill anyone so much before_  – but he didn’t say it.

“Hawke please – you and your companions, you need to be going,” he insisted once more.

Hawke sighed, looking over Evelyn’s face one last time before she raised her gaze to his. “What will you do?”

“My best,” he answered. “For what that’s worth, which isn’t much. Go Hawke – I’ll do what I can for Kirkwall, but you should leave.”

Hawke spent a few more moments looking between Cullen and the Tranquil she still held before she finally released her. “All right,” she agreed. “Th-thank you, Cullen. I – I’m so sorry -”

“Go, Marian,” he interrupted, and he reached down for Evelyn’s hand and turned down the hall.

He listened to Hawke’s retreating footsteps as he led the way to the offices, hoping that he could have a few moments – just a few to collect his thoughts.

“Are you all right, Cul -”

“Please, don’t – don’t call me that,” he said, his voice cracking under the weight of the guilt he felt.

He led her into his old office and closed the door behind them before he threw his sword to the ground. His armor was soaking in blood, some of it his, some of it Meredith’s – some of it his fellow brothers and sisters in arms, who had decided to put the Order above what was right. The feeling of it on him, stifling, sticky – he began to pull the pieces off and threw them haphazardly on the ground.

“Did anyone hurt you, Ev – Eve – Miss?” he asked, choking on the name.

He couldn’t call her that – this wasn’t her, this shell of a person. It was her body, yet it wasn’t – the eyes had changed, they no longer had that spark of life they had always held. And the hair – it was shaggy, chopped unevenly around her ears, making her almost look sickly.

The brand, though –

“No, Knight-Captain,” she answered evenly.

“Don’t – don’t call me that, either,” he gritted out. He walked to the wash basin in the corner and wet a rag, trying to clean his face off.

“What should I call you?”

“I – I am the Knight-Commander, now, but – I am – I – you do not have to call me anything,” he sighed, dragging the wet rag over his face. When he wet it once more in the basin, the water swirled red, blood tingeing it in tendrils. “I am not your Commander, after all.”

“Yes.”

He frowned and glanced over his shoulder at her. “What?”

“You are my Commander,” she answered smoothly, her hands clasped in front of herself.

“N-no, please -”

But she simply stared at him blandly.

“I – I am glad you are unharmed,” he told her, trying to change the subject.

“It was uncomfortable, and loud,” she replied in her dull monotone. “But no harm came to me.”

He threw the cloth he was holding into the wash basin with a small splash, irritation and anger coursing through him. He felt his eyes prick with tears, chills running up and down his spine in response to the sound of her voice.

“No harm will _ever_ come to you,” he told her, his eyes clenched shut.

“My Commander?”

With a growl he pushed away from the small table and crossed the room to stand before her. Taking in the eyes, the brand – he almost wanted to wrap his hands around her neck and throttle her.

That would be better than listening to this, listening to this voice imitate _her_ and call him ‘my commander’ in place of 'darling' or 'Cullen,' or 'love.'

Instead he gripped her shoulders and pulled her close against him.

“I promise, nothing will ever happen to you. Not again – I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again. You have my word, for what little it’s worth,” he leaned and pressed his forehead against hers. He was vaguely aware of the feeling of the brand against his skin, the raised, puckered mark obvious against him.

Choking back a sob he shook his head, feeling hers move slightly with his as he did so. “I promise, I will take care of you. Know you will stay near me – always, wherever I am, Miss -” his voice choked, he couldn’t say her name, he couldn’t even pronounce her family name. An image of dull grey flitted across his mind and he clenched his teeth.

“Always, Miss Grey. I promise.”


	6. All That She Said Stays With Me All of the Time, Never to Die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know this has been torturous angst after torturous angst - get through this chapter and the next chapter will be a reprieve, I promise.
> 
> And by that I mean - this chapter is rough. I'm so, so sorry.
> 
> xx,  
> Lara

The purple and static of the cage confined him, and he couldn’t fully make out everything beyond it.

 Bodies of his comrades – his friends – littered the ground around him. How many of them had he watched tortured to death?

Worse yet – how many had he seen cave, giving in only to become monsters – abominations twisted to someone else’s will?

He knelt in the middle of the cage, praying again. His skin was crawling, he was in pain – his vision was blurred, but he tried his best to resist the painful symptoms he was suffering.

It had been more than two days now, he felt certain – more than two days since he’d had his last dose of lyrium.

What he wouldn’t do to feel it within his veins, to feel the power, the protection it would grant him from this. The cage is blocking it all from him – maybe if one of the mages got close enough he could enjoy the lyrium in their veins.

Even that would be enough for him at the moment.

A small figure approached the side of the cage again, staring down at him, and he did his best to keep his eyes away from it.

But he couldn’t.

He didn’t want to.

Long black hair swayed as she tilted her head, looking down at him.

“Cullen.”

Her voice was so soft – it was always so soft it made peace course through him to hear it.

“My love – you don’t have to stay in that cage,” she told him. “Please, love – just let me in. We can be together forever.”

He clasped his hands before him, burying his forehead against his fists and rocking himself as he began to chant.

_“Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him._

_Foul and corrupt are they_

_Who have taken His gift_

_And turned it against His children._

_They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones._

_They shall find no rest in this world_

_Or beyond.”_

A soft giggle sounded from above him as he finished the verse. “My love, you know I am no Maleficar – I’m here, sweet and pure and whole, just for you.”

“No – no, you’re not,” he gasped, clenching his eyes close more tightly.

“Yes, I am – I’m here and ready for you,” she purred.

He looked up, unable to resist the temptation. Even if it was an illusion – he could have her. She could be his once more. The eyes – they were no longer grey, they were –

But as she approached, as she got closer, something changed. Her hair fell around her as if an invisible dagger was cutting it, leaving it jagged around her ears. And her eyes dulled, they turned lifeless grey – a brand burned into her forehead –

With a shout he sat up, his eyes wandering around the darkness of his loft as he tried to get his bearings.

He wasn’t there – he wasn’t in the cage again, no demon was tempting him.

“Are you all right, my Commander?”

His eyes closed – there was one part of his nightmare he couldn’t escape. He could never escape it – it was his burden, for the rest of his life.

He deserved it.

Glancing to the side finally he took in the sight of her, sitting on the edge of her small bed, staring at him blankly. She was waiting for a command, for a request for help – patient and silent as always.

“J-just a nightmare, Miss Grey,” he stuttered out. “P-please, return to your rest.”

“Would you like some tea?” she asked.

“No,” he snapped. “Go back to sleep.”

She didn’t even flinch at the tone of his voice. Instead she merely scooted back on her bed and curled up once more, facing the wall beside her.

From behind, he could almost picture _her_.

He buried his face in his hands, trying to fight the moisture behind his eyelids, trying to fight the choked sobs coming to his throat. His head was aching, he almost felt nauseated – and it had been days since he’d been able to sleep for longer than an hour.

Pushing himself off the bed he crossed the loft to the wash basin in the corner and splashed his face with the cool water. When he raised his gaze he caught his reflection in the mirror, and for a moment simply stared at himself as if at a stranger.

Dark circles surrounded his eyes, emphasizing wrinkles he had at the corners, making them look sunken in so that he appeared weary beyond his years. When was the last time he had shaved? A thick layer of stubble covered his jaw, and he dragged a hand over it, feeling it rough on his skin.

Lowering his hand he noticed that it was shaking, and he gripped the edges of the small dresser the basin rested on. His knuckles turned white as he tried to steady himself, clenching his eyes shut – but the room spun and his stomach lurched.

Bending quickly he managed to make it to the small bucket beside the dresser, his stomach voiding its contents as he fell to his knees beside it. The bitter, sour taste of bile filled his mouth, and he kept his watering eyes closed as he waited for it to be over.

The softest hand rested on his shoulder, and a wet cloth was placed on his forehead, wiping away the sweat before it lowered to wipe his nose and mouth.

Silent.

No words of comfort were spoken, no soothing murmurs, or questions of if he was all right. Instead just silence, and a wet rag being dragged over his skin.

It made him shake worse, it made his skin feel like pins and needles were running under it, like he had daggers within him. Anger flooded him, to the point that he wasn’t even certain what he was angry about, he just knew that he _hated_ – he hated more than he ever thought possible.

“Get away from me,” he growled, lashing out with an arm and pushing her back.

He heard her stumbling, he heard her catch herself – but she made no noise.

Silent.

And then –

“I apologize, my Commander, you seemed like you needed my help,” she said evenly.

“I – I do not, Miss Grey – please -”

“You are ill.”

“I am fine.”

“You got sick -”

“Shut up!” he roared, turning his glare on her.

Silent.

For several long moments, he simply glared at her, his eyes moving over her blank expression, the lifeless grey eyes – the _brand_ on her forehead.

Without any prompting, he could still recall the scream so easily, the way it had torn through him, set his hair on end – the way it had made him feel as if his own soul was being ripped from his body.

He clenched his eyes shut, avoiding the sight of the brand, the reminder of his greatest failure – his greatest sin.

“M-my apologies, Miss Grey,” he breathed, the name almost choked out. He almost thought he was going to be sick again, just from the mere memories that were tormenting him. “I – I am in great pain.”

“Do you need the tea, or the oakmoss and elderflower cream?” she asked, folding her hands in front of her as she waited.

“I – no, I – I need to get ready for the day,” he answered, finally pushing himself to his feet. He looked around the loft as if he felt lost, his eyes unable to focus on anything around him.

Still, she stood watching him, waiting expectantly for him to direct her.

He ignored her, brushing her aside lightly as he took his place before the washbasin. A shave – that was what he needed. It would help him get his mind sorted, it would help him get ready for the day and shake the cobwebs from his mind.

How many days had he looked a disaster like this, attending war councils and giving orders to the men?

Clearing his throat and trying to swallow the lingering taste of bile in his mouth, he picked up his straight razor and stared at it for a moment.

His hands were shaking almost uncontrollably – he couldn’t steady them if he tried.

But he needed to – he couldn’t go about his duties looking like this.

“Would you like for me to do that instead?” her monotone offered, and he clenched his eyes shut.

_“You’re getting scruffy – you need a shave,” she teased, dragging her nails along his jaw, the rough sound making her giggle. “And what’s this on your chin?”_

_He frowned, a little indignant. “I – I rather like it,” he said, dragging a hand over his goatee. “Do you not?”_

_“It tickles,” she told him. “Every time you kiss me – every time I feel your mouth along my skin…”_

_She trailed off and raised her eyes to him, the pupils dilating and he knew her mind was wandering the same direction his was._

_He’d never get enough of her._

“I – I can manage,” he insisted.

“Your hands are shaking,” she told him. “It will go faster if I do it.”

It was a simple statement, just facts – and unfortunately he knew she was right. If he wanted to go about his duties looking more like a Commander than a crazed addict, he needed to shave.

Heaving a sigh he passed her the blade and then pulled the sole chair in the loft over beside the washbasin.

Miss Grey waited patiently for him to sit, and then began to wet the blade and his beard, lathering it with the soap he used. Her hands were incredibly steady, and she stood beside him and worked in silence as she shaved his beard carefully.

She was so tiny she didn’t have to stoop at all to perform her task, and he had to close his eyes to avoid the sight of her face and hands so near.

He remembered other times she had been this close – other times she had leaned down toward his face –

He stopped himself from picturing it, forcing his eyes open to stare at her. The eyes – the brand. This wasn’t her.

She was gone.

Her hands were so steady, but he almost wished she would slip as she shaved his neck.

But she didn’t – and soon his face was smooth, more presentable again. He could look the part of the Commander.

When she finished she reached for the oakmoss and elderflower cream beside the washbasin and scooped some in her thin fingers. She rubbed it over his face, her delicate fingers rubbing it under his eyes along the bags, putting pressure on his temples as well as if to ease his headache.

“Th-thank you, Miss Grey,” he said, his tone clipped as he pulled his face out of her reach and quickly stood.

He couldn’t feel her fingers on him like that, caressing his face – it reminded him too much –

He shook himself and crossed the loft quickly to the ladder, not bothering with his armor. He had work to do – and he was feeling stifled.

Not long after he took his seat at his desk she came down the ladder and began moving around the office, organizing reports and straightening his things. He gritted his teeth, not raising his gaze to watch her. It made him feel like she was a servant, but she didn’t deserve that fate.

She had been proud, but gentle, and this – docile, obedient – this wasn’t her.

“My Commander, would you like some tea?”

“My Commander, shall I sort these reports for you?”

“My Commander, shall I fill out this requisition for you? Your hands are shaking.”

“My Commander -”

_“ENOUGH!”_

His bellow echoed through the stone room, but again she simply stared at him in response. Hours had passed and she had continually offered him help – but instead of gratitude he felt a darkness taking root inside of him, a hatred and anger he couldn’t shake.

He stared down at the desk in front of him, his vision blurring. None of his pain had gone away, it had only gotten worse. His shaking was unbearable now, and he almost thought he was going to pass out or get sick again.

And still she stood there, staring.

Silent.

This was maddening – he had thought he could handle this, that he had to handle it. But now he knew, he was just as weak as he was then.

He couldn’t bear this.

“Stay. Here,” he snapped, his voice coming out muffled because his teeth were clenched so tightly.

Fresh air, that was all he needed. A chance to clear his mind. A chance to be away from oppressively suffocating silence.

“Yes, my -”

“Don’t,” he pleaded, and then he shook his head and hurried out the door of his office onto the battlements.

It was nighttime again – or was it still nighttime?

He didn’t know, he had no idea. How long had passed, how long had he sat there doing reports, stifled by a presence he was trying his best to ignore?

Had it been hours like it felt? Or had it only been a few minutes?

He paced the battlements, trying to get his head straight, trying to blink to clear his vision. Clutching his head he pulled at his hair, feeling insane, demented – this was unbearable.

“She wants to help you.”

A monotone voice, but a different one than he was used to. He turned quickly and saw that strange spirit boy Cole perched on the ramparts, staring at him from underneath the wide brim of his hat.

“Get away from me, spirit,” he spat, his lip curling back in a snarl.

“She remembers – even if she can’t feel the same as she did then,” the spirit continued anyway. “But she knows you are in pain. She wants to help you, however she can.”

“I said shut up!”

“You are in so much pain, and her only purpose is to help you with it,” Cole tilted his head and stared at Cullen. “She sounds different, quieter, like a faint heartbeat. All she thinks of is you, and easing your burdens.”

“I don’t want to hear this,” Cullen growled, turning away and clutching at his chest with a hand. He felt like a knife was digging into him, like a fist was clenching his heart and squeezing it dry.

“She knows it hurts you to see her, but she doesn’t know how to make that better. If she left you, what would you have?” Cole mused. “You would be worse alone – and so she tries to do what she can. If only she could just understand -”

“Stop!” Cullen roared, charging toward the young man, but in a puff of smoke he disappeared.

Breathing heavily, his mind swimming, his vision blurring – he was shaking and couldn’t stop.

_“You are all I could want, my love,” he told her, sliding his hand along her cheek into her hair._

_She tilted her face up to his and parted her lips, and when they met his it was like heaven. They parted further and her tongue slid into his mouth, taking up a gentle dance with his. Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down to her._

_Eagerly he sought his place between her legs, thrusting into her and eliciting deep moans from their throats as they broke their kiss._

_“Cullen – I love you,” she whispered. “I love you – always. Always, always, always…”_

_She continued to whisper the word as he moved within her, desperation overtaking him as he sought to match her declaration with his own, using his body when words failed him._

Pain coursed through his legs, and it took him a moment to realize it was because he had fallen to his knees, and they had collided sharply with the stone of the battlements. The air was cold on his cheeks, making him aware of the tears that ran freely.

_Always._

The word echoed through his mind, taunting him, tormenting him with the memory, the promise she made to him from that first time she said it.

_I love you, always._

But she couldn’t, not now. She couldn’t even understand the word now, and that broken promise was yet another dagger in his aching heart.

It would have been better if they had killed her, it would have been better if she had died still loving him.

This – this shell of her, walking around pretending to be her, incapable of being her – this was too much.

Desperation tore through him, he felt crazed, and before he knew it he pushed up from where he knelt and ran along the battlements toward his office.

He saw little around him, he didn’t notice if anyone was on patrol or if he passed anyone. This needed to end, this was too much.

It was his burden, his punishment, but he was a weak man and he couldn’t take anymore.

When he burst through the door he saw that she was standing near where he had left her, and the sight of her standing so meekly in the face of his demented rage cut him to the core.

Running forward he grabbed the scabbard he had on his desk, and pulled the dagger from it before he crossed the office to where she stood watching him.

Grabbing her hair he tilted her head back until he could stare into lifeless, empty grey eyes. He was panting, crying, and for a moment simply stared into her blank face.

_It would be a mercy, it would be a mercy to both of us._

He raised the dagger and pressed it to her throat, watching as a small trickle of blood ran down the pale skin of her neck.

_It would be a mercy._

_She wouldn’t want this._

_She had so much life._

_So much vibrancy._

_This is a shell, it isn’t her._

Taking deep breaths he tried to steady himself, he tried to gather the courage to do it. His eyes cleared and he stared into her face.

Blank, devoid of a reaction.

He was holding a dagger to her, he was preparing himself to slit her throat, to end this misery for both of them.

And she was staring at him the same way she always did, her grey eyes simply holding his.

He tightened his hand in her hair, he took a deep breath –

But just as suddenly he released her, staggering back as a sob escaped him.

Silent.

She still hadn’t said anything, and she merely watched him trying to catch his breath.

He felt like he was struggling to breathe, as if a weight was pressing down on him.

_Maker forgive me._

Turning his gaze to her once more, shame coursed through him as he took in the neutral expression that was fixated on him, waiting patiently for him to speak. The thin line of red stood out on her pale skin, the only bit of color anywhere near her face. Every bit of her was white, and black, and grey – her lips no longer rosy, her cheeks devoid of color.

The only bit of color except one thing.

The red sunburst brand on her forehead drew his eye, and he felt the weight on his chest increase.

The reminder of his punishment, of everything he had lost, had sacrificed, had been forced to give up.

His biggest failure, his deepest regret, his greatest sin.

He slowly walked toward her again, his gaze fixed on the brand. It was too much, seeing that reminder every day. He was a weak man, a coward – he couldn’t put her out of her misery, he couldn’t end this for both of them.

But he could hide the reminder.

Running his fingers through her hair he pulled the front portion forward, holding it in his hand. With one swift movement he cut it shorter, throwing the black silky strands to the floor beside him along with the dagger.

Silent.

He looked over her face, and now, besides the eyes – he could almost imagine it was her.

Somehow, that only made the pain worse. Falling to his knees before her, he wrapped his arms around her, resting his cheek against the front of her as sobs wracked his body.

“Forgive me, forgive me,” he pleaded, tightening his hold on her.

“Yes, my Commander.”


	7. We Were Young, We Were Free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops my hand slipped, have a long chapter and some updated tags ;-)
> 
> Just for my due diligence, TW for a brief implied attempted assault (no, it's not Cullen.) Nothing explicit or major happens.
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy!
> 
> Lara

**9:32 Dragon**

 

The courtyard was bustling, as always, and even though there was a crowd somehow he felt safer here in the fresh air than he did within the halls of the Gallows.

Merchants were hawking their wares, but as he paced he kept himself away from the corner where the Tranquil offered their services. Despite how much he feared mages, he still felt uncomfortable around the Tranquil, unnerved by their emotionless voices and expressions. Kirkwall seemed to have more of them, as well.

He paced and looked around but it was a calm day, a normal day. The tightness he always felt in his chest lessened somewhat as he relaxed into his pace, appreciating the presence of other Templars and citizens of Kirkwall walking through the open square.

Meredith had called him into her office that morning to further discuss the mages who had come from Ostwick, but he had found himself slightly skeptical of her suspicions. Ostwick was known as a fair, even Circle, with very little issue.

First Enchanter Gabrielle and Knight-Commander Halwell were known for their firm but fair approach to running it, and indeed few problems were ever reported. The only reason they had even had to send some of their mages to Kirkwall was because they had too many – and the mages had volunteered to go.

Ser Connall, though, the Templar who had come with the mages, had insinuated that a few of them weren’t to be trusted. He had asked to patrol their hall that night, to keep an eye on them.

Cullen had relented, deciding that perhaps the man knew something they did not about their new charges. It would be better to discover the problem and take care of it quickly, instead of letting it fester or spread to others within the Gallows.

Still, as he thought about it while he looked over the courtyard, he hadn’t liked the eager gleam the man had gotten in his eyes in response to his affirmative answer. Something about it had made Cullen wonder, and he pursed his lips as he mulled it over.

As much as he had wanted to take a break for the night, he didn’t quite trust the man’s intentions. He always had more time to visit the Rose, he’d be off tomorrow evening as well. In the meantime, perhaps he should make certain his suspicions about the newcomers from Ostwick were baseless.

When evening fell, he patrolled through the halls, his ears perked up and ready for the slightest noise. His heart was pounding and he tried to steady his breath, his nerves still frayed as he paced the dark Gallows on his own.

But he clenched and unclenched a fist, his other gripping his pommel tightly, and he tried to push his memories out of his mind.

He had a job to do, and he would do it – he couldn’t let his fears get in the way.

The new mages from Ostwick were all being kept in the same hall, in order to be watched more easily as they all adjusted. It had only been a day and Cullen hadn’t had a chance to really see or meet any of them, since his duties had kept him busy elsewhere.

Plus he felt fairly certain Meredith had insisted they be confined to quarters for a few days, until they could ascertain their positions within their new Circle.

He frowned and took another deep breath as he turned toward the hall – but at first glance he realized it was deserted, every single one of the doors to the mages' quarters closed. Dim light from only one torch shone in the hall, and shadows covered every corner of the hall.

There wasn’t a soul in sight.

He steadied himself and took a few more steps, listening intently.

Where was Ser Connall?

As Cullen progressed down the hall he realized he heard a soft voice – it sounded strained, frightened, and a deep voice answered in a harsh whisper.

A slap, as if flesh on flesh, sounded soon after and was followed by a cry, and Cullen tightened his grip on his pommel and hurried toward the noise.

“Please – no – let me go, please,” the soft voice sobbed.

“Do as I command, little mage – open your mouth.”

“No – get away from me, _please_.”

His heart was pounding as he raced along the hall, listening intently at the doors to determine which one the whimpering cries were coming from.

“Stop struggling, mage whore, and open your mouth like the slut you are.”

“Please, Ser Connall – no, _don’t_ -”

Cullen finally found the door muffling the cries and threw his shoulder against it, a loud crunch accompanying the action as the door burst in its jamb.

Ser Connall quickly began to refasten his breeches, but it was obvious what he had been attempting.

A young woman was on her knees before him, tears streaming down her face, a red mark darkening on her cheek as if she had been struck. She was cowering, only in her thin white night shift, and he realized it looked like she had been dragged out of her bed and forced into this subservient position.

“Ser Connall,” he gritted out, glowering at the man.

“Knight-Captain,” the man stuttered out, turning away from the young woman. “This mage was -”

“Refusing to let you use her for your own pleasure?” Cullen interrupted, and he felt himself shaking in his rage.

“N-no, the – the little slut was begging me for it, she wanted – she was trying to get me to let her – she wanted special treatment -”

But Cullen charged forward, furious and done listening to the man’s lies. He gripped the front of his armor and slammed him into the wall, growling in his face.

“You disgrace the Order, Connall,” he snarled. “How dare you try to take advantage of your charges, how dare you -”

“They’re not really people,” Connall sneered. “You see it too, you see how they try to manipulate, to tempt -”

“No,” Cullen growled. “You will come with me, you will face punishment for what you have done.”

“I doubt it,” Connall smirked, quirking an eyebrow as if thoroughly sure of himself.

Cullen glowered into his face for a moment more, and then shoved him back against the wall before he released him. “To my office – now.”

“As you say, _Knight-Captain_ ,” the man jeered, and then he pushed by Cullen, leering at the young woman as he passed her on his way out of the room.

Cullen took a moment to steady himself, breathing heavily as he did so. When he finally felt he had control over himself he turned to face the young mage, trying to inspect her for any damage.

Instead he suddenly felt his breath stolen from him.

Long black hair fell to her waist, the silky strands shining almost blue in the moonlight coming in from the window. Her skin was pale, so pale it was almost glowing, but her lips were full and rosy pink, standing out beautifully against the creaminess of her cheeks.

Taking a few steps toward her, he found himself lost in the depths of her eyes. He couldn’t look away if he tried.

Even in the meager light they shone as if they had a spark of life behind them, twinkling and shimmering as she stared up at him. They were almost translucent, pale, nearly white – but they were ringed by a thick line of dark blue like the night sky.

Lightning – they looked like sparks of lightning.

He had been told at least one of the mages from Ostwick was incredibly predisposed to a certain school of magic, but he realized he wasn’t certain he had ever met a storm mage.

After several moments of looking her over he shook himself, realizing she was staring up at him as if absolutely terrified.

He had just rescued her, but she looked as if she thought he wanted to take Ser Connall’s place.

“A-are you all right?” he asked, and immediately felt foolish.

Of course she wasn’t all right.

“I – I -” she gulped, as if trying to swallow the emotion choking her voice. “I should be,” she finally whispered.

The pain in her voice tore through him, and for a moment he simply stared at her, wanting to say more, wanting to comfort her. After what she just went through, though, perhaps it was best if he just left.

He hesitated one more moment before he gave her a jerky nod and then turned to depart the room.

The sight of her scared and trembling as she stared up at him stayed with him the rest of the night, even as he and Meredith argued over and decided on how to discipline Ser Connall.

When he sought his rest, all he could see was a terrified face staring up at him, a trembling lip and tears swimming in lightning eyes.

 

* * *

 

Days passed, and he found it difficult to shake the sight of her cowering, frightened, the sound of her pleading cries before he could get to her. His anger at the other man’s lenient punishment tainted his mood for days, as if a black cloud hung over his head.

Knight-Commander Meredith had brushed off his concerns, made it seem as if he had imagined what he had seen. And she hadn’t even bothered to ask the mage what had happened.

Every time he recalled the words, he felt his teeth clench and his cheek flex at how displeased he was by her verdict. He had at least been able to insist that Ser Connall not be allowed near the Ostwick mages for the time being, that he be watched around his charges.

Over the days that passed, though, he noticed the young mage lingering occasionally near him in the courtyard, but every time he turned to look her way she jumped and hurried off. It was as if she was terrified of him, but he wondered then why she kept acting like she wanted to approach him.

This continued for several days, each time with her trying to linger longer, biting her lip before she finally scurried off as if her nerve had fled.

After over a week of this, she finally approached him one day in a back corner of the courtyard, her full, rosy lips pressed together as if she were trying to steel herself.

“I – Knight-Captain, may I have a moment?” she nearly squeaked, her eyes wide and he could tell she was shaking like a leaf.

“Of – of course, miss -?” he took a step toward her but her breath caught in her throat and he paused.

“Trevelyan,” she answered, but then shook her head. “I mean – Evelyn, Evelyn Trevelyan. L-lady Trevelyan, but that’s – um – you can call me Evelyn.”

He nodded, rolling the name around in his mouth.

_Evelyn._

It was beautiful.

“Might I help you with something?” he asked when she didn’t say anything further.

“I – I never thanked you,” she said, her voice trembling. “That night – if you hadn’t come along, I – I can’t express my gratitude -”

“Please, don’t,” he begged her, stepping forward despite himself. He had only done what was right, what was decent – she didn’t need to thank him profusely for it. “He was – he was in the wrong. I am sorry I did not get to you sooner, or that I – that I let him patrol that hall in the first place.”

To his surprise the corners of her mouth tugged up briefly in a hesitant smile. “I – it isn’t your fault,” she assured him. “He was always like that at Ostwick, but no one was ever able to catch him at it. I’m – I’m glad someone finally knows, that finally – maybe he won’t be able to hurt anyone else.”

Cullen’s frown sharpened. “Had he – had he hurt you before?”

Her lips tightened for a moment. “Not really, no – but he hurt someone else, and I – I saw,” she trailed off for a moment and looked around awkwardly. “I just wanted to make certain I said thank you, Knight-Captain.”

“Cullen,” he corrected suddenly, not entirely certain why he felt the urge to tell her.

“K-knight-Captain Cullen, then,” she nodded. “Thank you, again. Really.”

“That – that is unnecessary,” he tried to assure her, and he rubbed the back of his neck as he looked around. “But – I am glad you are all right.”

When he looked back at her she gave him another brief tug of a smile, and then suddenly turned and hurried off.

Yet when she reached the stairs leading to the Gallows she turned and looked at him over her shoulder, a curious look in her eyes.

It stayed with him for the rest of the day, and the days that followed.

When he saw her, he stopped and smiled, wanting to speak with her. He did when he was able to, when they had a moment alone. Even if he merely asked her about the weather or how she was adjusting to Kirkwall.

Somehow, he didn’t feel as nervous with her as he did around the other mages, and that confused him. Instead he felt himself seeking her out, looking out for her when he was patrolling the Gallows and its courtyard. He wanted to learn more about her, he wanted to speak with her more.

Weeks passed, and still he sought her out for conversation. She was skittish at first, as if she couldn’t understand his attention. But soon they fell into an easy camaraderie, and her smiles became brighter, coming to her more frequently.

He soon found himself wanting to see those smiles as often as he could, and sometimes he caught himself making jokes – even though he never expected to want to laugh and joke ever again.

Her giggles when he did, though, made him try harder every day.

There was something light and calm in her regard, and he was drawn to it as a moth to flame. It wasn’t dangerous, though – it was warm, comforting.

It helped him forget his fear, it helped him think perhaps he could move past Kinloch. If a mage such as she could exist – then perhaps Meredith was wrong, perhaps they weren’t all bad.

Evelyn was gentle, kind, sweet-natured.

She filled him with hope, even if he couldn’t tell how or why.

And yet a longing began within him. He realized it had been months since he had sought his relief at the Blooming Rose, so caught between work and his newfound fascination with speaking with _her_.

He needed to get this out of his system.

Before Kinloch, there hadn’t been anything. He had taken duty to the Maker seriously, he had decided that if he was with anyone, it would be in the confines of marriage. Yet after Kinloch, after that cage…

It was a temptation he didn’t want held over him ever again, a clandestine desire he wouldn’t let anyone use against him. And so he had begun visiting those at the Blooming Rose, to get it all out of his system when he could. It couldn't be a temptation if he wasn't depriving himself.

Now – he needed it. He needed that release, that relief.

When he was finally off duty for a night he made his way through the city, torn between anticipation and self-loathing. But he needed this – he could pray for forgiveness about it later.

Walking into the Blooming Rose, he was greeted by all of the familiar scents, the overdone perfume and the smell of sweat and body odor. He was greeted as usual, avoided the other Templars’ gazes as usual, requested the usual woman he saw.

It was monotonous, almost, this routine. But there was a comfort in it, and right now he needed that comfort.

Or so he thought.

As he sat on the edge of the bed, he found himself wishing for long black hair instead of short blonde, for pale eyes instead of chocolate brown.

What had she done to him?

He excused himself before they even began to undress, handing over coin despite not finding any relief. Instead he wandered through the streets of Kirkwall, thinking of lightning eyes, of pale skin that he wanted to feel under his fingertips.

He hadn’t even realized until now that this was why he hadn’t sought his release in so long, that this was why he sought her out to make her smile and laugh. It was wrong, though – she was one of the mages he was sworn to protect – she was a _mage_.

And yet the very thought of her made his heart race.

Heaving a sigh he began to make his way through the dark halls of the Gallows, dooming himself to a restless night alone, tormented by longing he couldn’t ever act upon.

A gasp and the sound of footsteps pulled him out of his musings, and he looked around. The flickering light of the torches revealed something white pressed into the shadows of a doorway, and he took a few steps forward.

“Evelyn?” he whispered, unable to believe his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she squeaked, looking almost terrified at the sight of him. “I – I was praying in the Chantry, I – I like going at night, so I don’t have to listen to the Revered Mother's lectures. I – I was hiding from the patrol, I’m – I’m so sorry I was out, I just -”

She was shaking where she stood, again only in her thin white shift, her pale eyes wide as she stared up at him.

“Please, Knight-Captain, I’m so sorry -”

“I – I told you, it’s Cullen,” he whispered, and then he looked up and down the hall.

Not a soul in sight, but he knew the patrol had to be near.

“C-Cullen, please don’t tell anyone, I just – I just wanted to pray -”

“I’m not going to get you in trouble for praying,” he sighed, turning a frown on her.

Her rosy lips were glistening in the light, and this close he could see flecks of aqua and gold near the center of her eyes. They were beautiful, and before he could stop himself he stepped forward again, trying to get closer as he stared into their depths.

“Y-you’re not?” she murmured, but there was a breathless quality in the tone of her voice.

“No, I – I see nothing wrong with praying,” he told her, and for a moment they simply held one another’s gaze. “We should – should get you back, though – I mean, we should make certain the patrol -”

On impulse he took her small hand in his and hurried her along the hall, but when he heard footsteps ahead he altered his course and turned down a side hallway. It led to his quarters, and he pulled her with him until they were within the safety of the room, the door bolted behind them.

“C-Cullen, um -”

“I’m sorry, I did not want you to get caught, but you can stay here,” he turned to look at her over his shoulder, and he frowned when he saw the look on her face.

She almost looked scared, but it was indistinguishable – something else was behind the fear.

“I am not going to hurt you,” he assured her, realizing what she was maybe thinking.

“I know you wouldn’t hurt me,” she said, and then her cheeks flushed pink in the moonlight. “I – I only mean, I – I trust you.”

Something about the words affected him deeply, and he took a few strides away from the door to close the distance between them. And she didn’t run away, she didn’t cower. Instead she held his gaze, and her tongue flicked out quickly to lick her bottom lip as if it had suddenly gone dry.

Tentatively he reached up with a hand and cupped her cheek, running his thumb along her cheekbone.

Her skin beneath his hand tingled, and he realized it was her magic, the lyrium running through her veins like a current. It was intoxicating, it drew him in, and he stepped closer until she had to crane her neck to look up at him.

She hadn’t shied away from his touch, though – in fact, she raised a hand between them and rested it on his chest. But it wasn’t to push him away, he realized, as she twisted her fingers in the material of his shirt.

It was as if she was pulling him closer.

Not another moment’s hesitation passed before he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, and though he heard her breath catch in her throat her lips parted invitingly.

Her willingness, her eagerness undid him – whatever doubt he had been harboring fled, and he lost himself in the feeling of kissing her.

There was a sweet timidity in her response to him, but the keen way she was trying to meet his passion encouraged him. Her arms slid around his neck and he pulled her against him, able to feel her curves through the thin material of their clothes.

More – he wanted, needed more – and when he began to guide her to the bed she let him. His hands slid down her sides and gathered the fabric of her shift so that he could pull it over her head. He broke the kiss so he could remove it, and stepped back so he could take in the sight of her bared for him.

Nothing had ever been more beautiful, and he stared brazenly at her full breasts, their peaks hardened in her excitement. He reached with a hand to run a rough palm over one, and her breath caught in her throat.

“Cullen, I – I never have,” she whispered, as if she couldn’t hold back the confession. A blush started on her chest and spread to her neck, and she worried her bottom lip with her teeth as she looked up at him.

“I – I’m sorry, I didn’t know, we can stop -” he murmured, but he stopped when she shook her head.

“I – I want to,” she told him. “I want you.”

“I want you too, I – I have for a while, since – since we met, really. I’ll be gentle, I promise,” he assured her, and he stepped forward to take her back into his arms.

His heart was racing as he kissed her, as he tried to temper the passion he felt for her so that he didn’t scare her. But soon her fingers were twisting in his hair, her tongue dancing eagerly with his and he found it hard to hold himself back.

He pulled away and stripped himself of his shirt and breeches, and he noticed her eyes widen when she took in the sight of him hard and ready for her.

Kissing her gently once more he pulled her with him onto his bed, holding himself over her as he tried to assure her with kisses and caresses. Her breathing quickened as he explored her, and when he slid his hand between her legs she gasped, as if surprised.

He continued to move carefully, stroking her with a finger to excite her, and soon she was moaning and rocking her hips in response. Sliding one finger into her he slowly moved it within her, letting her adjust, and after a few moments he slid another inside.

She softly called his name, and the sound of it, the way she said it like this, in his bed and trembling under pleasure he was giving her set his heart racing.

He wanted to hear it again, he wanted to hear it more than he wanted to hear anything – he was lost to it, he knew he’d never get tired of the sound.

Removing his fingers from her he finally used his knees to spread her legs further and took his place between them, resting his tip against her wet heat.

“Evelyn -” he began, locking eyes with her. He wanted to make sure, he wanted to know that she wanted this as much as he did.

“Please, Cullen – I want this – I want you,” she interrupted him, and she smiled.

Slowly he thrust into her, feeling her stretch around his size as she moaned, clenching her eyes shut. When he was deep within her he stilled, trying to take a moment to steady himself and let her adjust.

But again she looked up at him and smiled, and he was lost.

He began gently, hoping to take his time with her, but she responded eagerly, twisting her mouth against his in a deep kiss as she rolled her hips to match his thrusts. It was a passion he hadn’t expected, that he had never thought he would find.

She whimpered and moaned in response to his movements inside her, clinging to him desperately as if she was trying to steady herself against a raging storm. The tingling of her skin, the way he could feel her magic beneath his touch and around him as he thrust into her increased with her excitement. He watched in awe as her back arched and she cried his name again, and she tingled and throbbed around him as she fell apart.

When he finished he buried his face against her neck and groaned, the scent of rain like a spring thunderstorm filling his senses. It was perfection, all of it – the feeling of being within her, the scent of her, the sensation of her tingling skin against his.

“Cullen?” she whispered after several moments spent in silence, simply trying to catch their breath.

“Yes, Evelyn?” he rubbed his forehead against her shoulder and then raised his head so that he could look down at her.

“I – I want to be yours,” she confessed, and then bit her lip. She looked almost embarrassed that she’d said it, and shook her head. “I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have – we can’t, I know – this was probably just tonight, for you. Forget I said anything -”

“No, Evelyn,” he hurried to assure her, shaking his head. “It’s – it’s not. I feel the same, I – Maker take me, but I want you to be mine. I – I am yours, Evelyn.”

A soft look came into her eyes as they twinkled in the moonlight, and for a moment she almost looked like she was speechless.

“I am yours, Cullen. For as long as you’ll have me.”

“Always,” he told her, leaning down to press a tender kiss to her lips.

“Always,” she agreed.


	8. I Don't Want You Looking Back At All The Ghosts Left Behind

His armor weighed heavily on him, and it had several new dents in it he would have to get repaired. But he was alive.

Marching through their camp he looked around, taking in the number of injured being tended, but he reminded himself that they had suffered few losses.

By all accounts, it had been a success – even with The Inquisitor and the Champion falling into the Raw Fade once more.

Hawke.

He had seen her leave the Fortress, had seen her stagger away looking distraught. Others maybe couldn’t tell, but he knew her well enough, he knew that she had just been through an ordeal.

To be fair, so had he. Thinking the Inquisitor was gone, that they had lost their only chance at saving Thedas – and Maker, the blood magic, the Wardens…

He sighed as he made his way to the Command tent, eager to take his armor off, eager perhaps to let Miss Grey use the oakmoss and elderflower cream to work the stiffness out of his muscles. In the morning he’d hate himself for it, but at present he just wanted some sort of relief for his many aches and pains.

When he reached the Command tent he slowed, a frown coming to his face.

“You know, if I could just get the edges even, your hair almost looks pretty like this,” a soft voice was saying from inside. “It was always so beautiful, though. Merrill told me once when she saw you that she wanted to braid it with flowers. I think you two would have liked one another, if you’d – if you’d been able to spend time together.”

Silence greeted the words, and Cullen’s cheeks flexed as he pushed open the flaps and walked inside.

A familiar head of golden curls turned to look at him, piercing hazel eyes taking in his appearance before she turned back to her task. Miss Grey was standing before her, her hands clasped as she waited patiently.

A pair of sewing scissors was in Hawke’s hand, and she appeared to be attempting to fix the jagged edges of black hair that surrounded Miss Grey’s pale face.

“Hawke,” he greeted stiffly, biting back the shout he wanted to fling at her, the demand to leave the tent.

“After all this time, don’t you think you could call me Marian?” she sighed, bending back to her task.

She was at least a head taller than Miss Grey, tall and slender – although he swore the belly of her armor was rounder than he remembered, softer almost.

“You’re getting soft in your retirement,” he quipped, unable to resist. There had been a time teasing like this had been natural to them, during those evenings in the Hanged Man, the days when she stopped by the courtyard of the Gallows.

“I – I’m not going soft,” she said, and her voice had a strained quality. “I’m – I’m with child.”

Cullen stared at her, his eyes wide and his eyebrows raised. “M-Marian, you should have told us, you shouldn’t have been in the battle -”

“Oh like I’m useless?” she snapped, throwing a scowl over her shoulder at him. “I’m fine, I – I survived, d-didn’t I?”

She hung her head, and her shoulders began to shake as sobs overtook her. The hand that held the scissors came to rest on Miss Grey’s shoulder, and for a moment Cullen thought Hawke was going to try to embrace her.

_“You can’t keep your eyes off her – is there something there?”_

_“I have no idea what you are talking about,” he grimaced, tugging at the collar of his armor and looking away from hazel eyes._

_“Oh Maker look at you blush – and here I thought you were doomed to your nights at the Rose for the rest of your life,” Hawke laughed and looked away. She folded her arms and leaned back on a hip, watching as Evelyn walked across the courtyard toward one of the merchants._

_When she glanced Cullen’s way to give him a secretive smile, Hawke burst out laughing. Evelyn looked away, embarrassed at being caught._

_Despite himself, he smiled – knowing that she had been smiling at him, thinking of how she had smiled up at him that morning when he kissed her goodbye._

_“Introduce me sometime, I’d love to meet the woman who brought a pious Chantry boy to his knees – literally,” Hawke teased, and Cullen’s cheeks heated._

_“I’m not sure I should, you might be a bad influence on her,” he said airily._

_Hawke laughed harder and shook her head. “She looks too sweet to let anyone corrupt her.”_

“I – I am sorry about Stroud,” he said, trying to clear the memories swimming to the surface of his mind. “He seemed a good man.”

“He was,” Hawke muttered, and she lifted a hand to wipe her cheeks. “Maker, this babe – I cry at the drop of a hat now.”

She tried to laugh, but it sounded hollow, forced. After a moment spent wiping her tears she lifted her hand from Miss Grey’s shoulder and resumed snipping at the jagged edges.

Cullen grumbled at the sight, feeling irritated. He had wanted peace and quiet, had been looking forward to the silence for once. The battle had been too much for him, all he wanted now was rest.

He began to unfasten the buckles of his armor, moving to his stand to remove it.

“Wait – don’t – Evel -”

“Don’t say that name,” he snapped, turning around as his heart jumped into his throat. He couldn’t hear it, not even from Hawke.

Miss Grey was trying to step away from Hawke, looking at Cullen with her expressionless eyes. If he wasn’t mistaken, she was trying to walk over to help him remove his armor.

“I – then what am I supposed to call her?” Hawke gritted out.

“Miss Grey is her name,” he told her, yanking off his gauntlets and throwing them aside angrily.

“Maker, Cullen – what in Voids are you even doing? You can’t say her name, and she – does she even speak anymore?” Hawke asked, finally releasing Miss Grey’s shoulders so that she could approach Cullen to assist with his armor.

"She - she is not _her_ anymore, that is not her name," he muttered.

He stared down at her as her thin fingers took up the task of undoing his mantle, hanging it on the armor stand before she reached up to the buckles of his pauldron.

_“I’m – I’m Evelyn,” she said, a small smile tugging up the corners of her mouth. She looked nervous, her eyes flitting between his face and Hawke’s. “I – I never thought I’d get to meet you in person, I – the Champion of Kirkwall, I -”_

_Hawke laughed and shook her head. “Please, call me Marian,” she insisted. “And I wanted to meet you, I’ve heard so much about you.”_

_“You wanted to meet me?” Evelyn’s pale eyes widened and she looked at Cullen, surprised._

_“Anyone who can make this ass smile the way you do must be a wonderful person,” Hawke smirked, taking in Evelyn’s amazement._

_“Hawke, please -” Cullen sighed, but she shot him a playful glare and linked arms with Evelyn._

_“Shh, Chantry boy, let the ladies talk,” Hawke told him, and she began to walk to a more secluded corner, giggling as she led Evelyn away from him._

“Cullen?”

He glanced up and saw Hawke standing behind Miss Grey, frowning at him with obvious confusion on her face.

“I -” he sighed, and then he looked down at Miss Grey. “You may speak with Hawke, Miss Grey.”

“You have to give her permission?” Hawke asked indignantly.

“It has been easier than letting people try to question her,” he gritted out.

“So no one – no one knows who she is,” Hawke observed. “I – Ev – Miss Grey? Do you remember me?”

As she asked it she circled to stand beside Cullen, taking in the neutral expression on the Tranquil’s face.

“I do,” Miss Grey answered. “You are Marian Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall.”

“Well – yes, I am, but – do you remember – surely you remember? We – we spoke several times, I -” Hawke’s voice faltered, she sounded pained.

Miss Grey looked up at Cullen, and he closed his eyes but nodded.

“I remember, yes,” she answered Hawke. “You were my friend. You tried to help me, that night -”

“Please, don’t,” Cullen whispered, unable to let himself think about that night, unable to hear her speak of it.

“I – I’m so sorry, Miss Grey,” Hawke said, her voice cracking once more. “I wish – _Maker_ I wish things had gone differently.”

“It is not your fault,” Miss Grey replied evenly.

“It is mine,” Cullen muttered, his heart racing, his stomach clenching and twisting at the memory.

“No, my Commander.”

He frowned and looked at her, staring into the lifeless grey voids as if he could find any meaning in them.

“It was, it was my fault,” Hawke tried to insist beside him, but Miss Grey shook her head once.

“No one is at fault but the Knight-Commander,” she replied in her soft monotone. “She gave the order, I remember that as well.”

Silence fell at her pronouncement, and beside him Hawke reached up to wipe at the tears streaming down her cheeks.

“But it – it was, it was my fault that she even had a chance. I should have done more, I should have met you sooner, done something ages before it got to that point,” Hawke cried. “You don’t know, you can’t imagine how much I’ve regretted that, how much I’ve – oh, Evelyn, please forgive me.”

Cullen’s heart nearly stopped beating when he heard the word, the name he hadn’t spoken in years. He wanted to shout, to rave, to throw Hawke out of the tent. But instead he stood staring into the blank face before him as if transfixed.

It wasn’t the truth though.

“It was my fault – if I had waited, if I had not tried to sneak her out, if I had not panicked,” he breathed, his voice barely audible. “I should have done more to prevent it all, to stop – to stop Meredith. I should not have tried to get her out. Please, if anyone needs to be forgiven, it is me.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Miss Grey finally said, moving her dull gaze between him and Hawke. “I am in no pain, or discomfort because of your actions. Please, do not trouble yourself, Marian – nor you, my Commander.”

_“Quickly – Andraste preserve me, we need to hurry, before anyone comes by.”_

_“Cullen – please, go back – it’s fine, I can make it -”_

_“No, I need to see you safely out of here,” he turned around and gripped her arm, staring down into pale eyes. “The Knight-Commander, the things she’s been saying – it’s like she’s mad, seeing blood mages everywhere she looks. I can’t – I can’t let anything happen to you.”_

_He was a weak man, a selfish man. The Circle was full of innocents, and the punishments and restrictions were becoming worse every day._

_But when he’d heard whispers, the Rite of Annulment had been sent for –_

_No, no – there was one he could save. He had to save her._

_He grabbed her hand and turned, sticking to the shadows as they tried to sneak through Kirkwall, trying to reach the place he had arranged to meet Hawke and Anders. They had connections to get her to safety, and even if he never saw her again, even if things didn’t work out – she’d be alive, and well._

_Footsteps sounded behind them, a shout rent the air, and Evelyn’s hand squeezed his tighter in her fear._

_They were too late._

“I should have waited, it was – two weeks, Hawke,” he said before he could stop himself, his voice cracking. “Two weeks, if I had not tried to sneak her out – it would not have happened. It would not – she would be – she would still be _her_ , and not this shell.”

“She’s – she’s right, Cullen,” Hawke said softly. “It was Meredith. She did this. Not you, and not me. Meredith and her paranoia, her insanity. She took Evelyn from us, she took – she took the best of us.”

He watched as Hawke reached out a hand, brushing the hair that now hung over Miss Grey’s forehead aside so that she could look at the brand that rested there.

“Watching you run your sword through that bitch gave me more satisfaction than I ever thought possible,” Hawke sneered, a deep anger setting into her face. “She deserved worse, though, for destroying something so pure.”


	9. Alone, That Night, I'm Surely Damned

**9:37 Dragon**

 

His quarters were quiet, which was a relief. It had been a trying day, but then again they were all trying days now.

Meredith was imposing harsher restrictions, crueler punishments. Many of the mages were confined to their quarters, extra patrols were set at all times. She was even ordering a full search of the Gallows in the next few days.

And all he could wonder was how things had gotten to this point.

What had he missed, and how had he missed it? Was he too distracted, perhaps too diverted by Evelyn and his nights with her, or his concerns for her safety within the Gallows?

Or was Meredith hiding things from him? If so, for how long?

Things had been slightly better since Ser Alrik had been found killed, but Ser Connall was still wandering the Circle, watching the mages like a predator watching prey.

So far Evelyn had managed to stay out of Meredith's notice. She was sweet, and helpful to the Tranquil in the Gallows, but quiet and careful. When they were alone she expressed her concerns, her fears, but she was too terrified to speak out to anyone but him. Having her insight though, he knew that a lot of Meredith’s concerns about the mages were baseless.

Where were they coming from, then?

He stripped out of his armor and hung it on its stand as he thought things over, trying to determine his best course of action. Things were getting out of hand, but he felt almost powerless to stop it.

Once he was down to his leather breeches he stretched and walked to the small desk against the wall. His teeth gritted as he opened the top drawer, hating this need, hating this habit. But he had to do it.

He pulled the small wooden box out and opened it, and for a moment simply stared at the contents.

He had been thirteen when he agreed to this life, when he had decided that the Order would be his future. Now, though, he was beginning to doubt. He had wanted to protect, both mages and non-mages alike.

This, what he did at the Gallows, what Meredith was asking of them all…

This wasn’t what he had wanted to do.

Now wasn’t the time to make this decision though. He needed to stay, if anything else to try to mitigate the coming disasters, to try to curtail Meredith’s paranoia if he could.

Plus, he had to protect Evelyn.

With that thought he removed a vial and prepared the injector, tying a cloth around his bicep and flexing.

_Protect her._

He slid the needle into his vein and clenched his cheeks as he began to inject the glowing blue liquid into his arm, watching as it tinted the blood beneath his skin for the briefest moment. Just as it always did.

The door opened suddenly and a small figure scurried inside, bolting the lock quickly behind them.

Cullen jumped and looked up, surprised to be greeted by Evelyn’s piercing lightning gaze as she took in what he was doing.

“I – s-sorry, Cullen,” she murmured, and she looked away from him.

He quickly pulled the needle from his skin and began to put everything back into the wooden box, not caring that it wasn’t as organized as normal in his haste. His cheeks heated and for a moment he simply ground his teeth.

They had never spoken of it, they tried not to acknowledge his habit or their differences, instead focusing on the love they shared and the similarities that drew them to one another. She had never mentioned the small pinprick scars that lined his arm, nor the fact that she knew what they were from. Instead she kissed them as well as his other scars, the scars he had acquired from Kinloch and battles with apostates or abominations.

She never asked him where any of them came from, after all these years. All she did was love him, no questions asked.

Somehow that made his cheeks burn hotter with shame.

“I’m sorry, Evelyn, I didn’t expect you so soon,” he finally said, avoiding her gaze as he returned the kit to the top drawer of his desk.

“I heard the patrols talking about taking a break, and so I – I took my chance,” she told him, and there was an odd, shaky quality to the tone of her voice. “It’s getting riskier every night, though, love. It’s – it’s even becoming harder to just walk to the courtyard during the day.”

“I know,” he sighed, resting his elbow on his desk and resting his forehead against his clenched fist.

“Has something happened? No one knows, I can’t seem to -”

“Just more suspicions, more baseless accusations,” he gritted out.

A shadow fell across him and he could tell she had moved to stand beside him. She began to run her fingers through his curls, twisting them as she always did when they were alone. Stepping closer, she maneuvered herself until she was standing between his knees, still running both hands through his golden locks.

“Are you all right, love?” she asked.

“I – I’m worried,” he confessed. “For you, for everyone here – I don’t know what I can do.”

“Do as you have always done,” she told him gently. “Protect. That’s – that’s why you’re here. That’s why you joined the Order, and that’s why you – you take lyrium.”

Something in him broke to hear her say it, and he raised his gaze to hers finally. There was a sad understanding in her pale eyes, and the corners of her mouth tugged up slightly as if she wanted to smile to reassure him but couldn’t quite manage to.

“It’s becoming harder each day,” he whispered, and he reached up and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him. “This, what Meredith is doing – this isn’t why I joined the Order, this isn’t what I dreamed it would be when I was thirteen.”

“You’re a good man, Cullen,” she assured him. “You’ll do what’s right, I know you will.”

“Am I a good man? For the first few years I was here I let her whisper in my ear and tell me mages weren’t to be trusted,” he sighed, tightening his hold on her. “If I hadn’t met you – who knows what I would have become. But now, I still feel powerless to stop her. I’m weak, my love. All I think about is you, I want to keep you safe, even if it means running away with you -”

“You wouldn’t do that,” she interrupted. “I know you wouldn’t abandon the other innocents here.”

“If it meant keeping you safe, I think I would,” he murmured, hating himself as he spoke the words. Leaning forward he rested his forehead against her, sighing as he thought over everything she was saying. “I’m scared for you, Evelyn.”

“I’m trying to do what I can to avoid catching anyone’s notice,” she sighed. “Ser Connall still seems to be…intent on causing problems for the mages. I can’t tell if Meredith is encouraging or just enabling it, but -”

“Has he done anything to you?” his head snapped up from where it rested against her, his eyes searching her face.

If the man had tried to hurt her again, he’d run him through with his sword. The thought of that first night, the terror on her face came back to him, and his heart sped up.

“No, he hasn’t, love,” she shook her head. “Still, I – I’m not sure I can keep slipping out. If I get caught -”

He groaned and rested his forehead against her once more. “I need to get you out of here,” he asserted. “I have to, I can’t stand the thought, I – I can’t -”

“I don’t want to leave you, Cullen,” she whispered, and she tightened her arms around him. “Please, don’t make me leave you -”

“Evelyn, you know how easily Meredith is wielding the Rite of Tranquility – if that – if that happened to you, it would break me,” he breathed.

A suffocating silence fell on them, both tightening their hold on one another.

“I’m scared,” he confessed.

“I am too,” she murmured. “I – I love you, always. No matter what happens.”

“I love you, too,” he clenched his eyes shut, trying to banish the fear and melancholy that had overcome them.

A desperation overwhelmed him and he stood, lifting her easily as he did so. He crossed to his bed and sat on the edge, pulling her into his lap. When he kissed her she clung more tightly to his neck, slanting her mouth against his to match his sudden passion.

He quickly undid his breeches, not bothering to fully undress either of them. He needed her, he needed this, to try to reassure them both that things could work out.

At least he had her, at least he knew she loved him – and she knew he loved her in return.

She was always so ready for him, eager and wet at his first touch. He had spent years exploring her body until he knew it better than she did, and after all this time their passion for one another hadn’t faded at all. Each time was like the first, every movement and touch full of desire and pure love.

Lifting her hips, he directed and slid himself within her, closing his eyes and clasping her tightly to him for a moment in silence. She began rocking herself against him, showering him with kisses, her fingers twisting into his hair as she whispered his name and softly told him she loved him.

It was heaven, and even though the fear didn’t fully leave him for a moment he was able to let it slip away to the recesses of his mind. He focused on kissing her, on the feeling of moving within her, noticing the way she began to tingle and throb around him as she worked harder to keep herself quiet in response to the pleasure.

They came at the same moment, their rhythm sporadic and accented by muffled moans of one another’s names. When they stilled he held her tightly to him, burying his face against the crook of her neck and drinking in the scent of rain that clung to her.

“I love you, Evelyn,” he told her. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”

 

* * *

 

Nights in Skyhold were always quiet, and there were times he couldn’t tell if he appreciated the silence more than the bustle. Sometimes it meant getting trapped in his own mind, unable to pull himself out of the memories.

He was staring at a report, his gaze blurry and unseeing as he remembered. It had been years, but he could remember it, could feel it as if it were yesterday. The fear in her eyes, the desperation in their kiss, the way she whispered his name as she lost herself in his arms.

Now the memory only caused him pain, and his hands shook and his heart raced as he remembered. His eyes swam with tears, and he tried to focus instead on reports, on the war council he had had that day. But his mind kept wandering, and the presence of silence sitting beside him did nothing to help.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept, at this point. They had been back from Adamant for a few days, but his mind wouldn’t let him rest or move past everything that had happened there. The constant presence of Hawke even now, their conversation after the battle, the blood magic and demons he had fought at Adamant all weighed heavily on him.

Hawke’s insistence to sit in his office for a large part of the day to try to speak with he and Miss Grey did not help either. The arrival of her husband earlier that day had finally curtailed that insistence, but he wondered if she would just make Fenris sit with her in the office the next day so that they could both see Miss Grey.

It was clear Hawke still felt guilty, that she was torn up inside every time she looked at the small Tranquil despite her assurances that she wasn’t in pain and forgave her. He was beginning to wonder if Hawke was ever going to allow herself to leave Skyhold, the way that she seemed intent on somehow trying to make up for what she considered a failing from her past.

He wished she would just go, though. Having her near was bringing back too many painful memories, to the point that he felt like he was stuck in waking dreams as memories came crashing back with increasing frequency.

He glanced up occasionally to where Miss Grey sat organizing reports, carefully copying a few reports and requisitions to pass on to Rylen. Bent over her work like that, her hair covering the brand and her eyes downcast, he kept thinking it was _her_ , that _she_ was sitting here with him.

It did nothing to help the shaking of his hands, the migraine that was starting, or the way his skin felt irritated as if it was being pricked with pins and needles every time something brushed against it.

And every moment the pain just continued to increase until he wasn’t certain he could take much more.

A need had begun in him recently, a need he had been able to ignore for months now. The more he remembered, the more he held off sleep, the more his hands shook and he had trouble focusing, though, he needed it more.

Lyrium would help this.

Lyrium would take away the memories, it would dull the pain.

Lyrium would clear his mind, allow him to focus on his tasks instead of his inner torments.

He glanced again at Miss Grey, and for a moment, he almost thought –

“Evelyn?” he whispered softly before he could stop himself, the soft light of the candles almost illuminating her lips until they looked rosy and tempting as they used to.

Her hand paused in its scribbling, the quill she held suddenly still. She slowly raised her head and stared at him, a look on her face as close to confusion as it could get.

“My Commander, do you need something?” she asked, her voice even and monotone still.

His heart ached, a sharp physical pain in response to the sight of her dull grey eyes and her steady voice. For several silent moments he simply held her gaze, unable to speak or even think. The memories of her support, of her understanding came back to him, suddenly blinding him.

Before he could resist he pushed himself out of his chair and knelt before her, running a hand along her cheek and into her hair.

Was she still in there somewhere, trapped by her own mind? Or was she gone forever?

“Close your eyes,” he whispered.

She didn’t hesitate at all, no part of her curious why he asked. Instead she simply shut her eyes and sat as still as a statue.

“Evelyn,” he whispered again, but no answer came.

The memories still felt real, but he longed for the actual feeling, the actual sensation.

He was like a man possessed, no longer able to withhold or control himself. Sitting like this she looked like she always had in sleep, her eyes closed and her long eyelashes resting on her pale skin. Her lips glistened slightly in the light, and he caved.

He pressed his mouth to hers, softly at first, and then desperation overwhelmed him and he slanted his mouth, trying to encourage her lips to part.

There was no response, no feeling or emotion. She was simply letting him press his mouth to hers, her hands still resting in her lap instead of pulling him to her as she once had. Her lips parted only because of how his moved against hers, and her tongue did nothing to take up a dance with his when he touched it tentatively.

She was gone.

With a sob he pulled back, releasing her and resting his head in her lap as sobs shook his body.

He had promised to protect her, to love her always, and he had failed her, and in the process he had lost her.

“Are you all right?” she asked, her voice giving away no indication that she had a response to the fact that he had just kissed her. But she lifted one hand and gently rested it on top of his head, and his heart ached more painfully and his sobs grew more choked.

This was unbearable.

And if he couldn’t put her out of her misery, if he couldn’t send her away from him, if he couldn’t end his own suffering, there was only one thing he could do.

He should be taking it.

He pushed himself to his feet and angrily wiped at his cheeks, trying to steady himself and clear his vision. This was too much. Either he should be taking it, or he should be relieved of duty.

His distractions were increasing, to the point that he couldn’t focus or trust himself. He was going to break at any moment, his hands shaking so much he couldn’t fill out orders, his headaches so horrible he was getting sick from the pain constantly.

His weakness couldn’t cost the Inquisition, he wouldn’t allow himself to fail this as well. He had enough sins weighing on his shoulders.

Marching across the office, he pulled the door to the battlements open. “Stay here,” he called after himself without looking back, and he closed the door.

The peace of Skyhold grated on his nerves, his mind too in turmoil to be comforted by the silence. It merely drove him inward, focusing on his memories and the decision he had reached.

Before he realized it he was at Cassandra’s quarters, and he hesitated only a brief moment before he pounded on the door.

It took her a moment to open it, but it was clear she was still awake since she was wearing breeches and a loose shirt. She raised her eyebrows as she looked him over, and when he didn’t say anything she pursed her lips.

“Commander?” she asked. “Can I help you?”

“We – we need to talk, Cassandra,” he told her.

She nodded in understanding, as if she could tell what may have driven him to her room this late at night. Stepping aside she let him into her small chambers and then closed the door behind them.

“I was about to retire, but please, take a seat, Commander,” she gestured at a chair next to the small desk in her room, and she took the one opposite it.

He sat and for a moment simply looked around, trying to think how to even begin this conversation.

“Are you all right?” she asked after several moments of silence passed.

“I – no, I am not,” he confessed softly. “I need you to – to relieve me from duty. I am no longer fit to serve the Inquisition, my distracted mind, my withdrawals – I will only put everyone in danger.”

When he glanced at her he saw a thoughtful frown on her face, her lips pursed as she considered his words. Her eyes roamed over his face, taking in his appearance with a critical appraisal.

“You do seem tired, and distressed, but you have given me no reason to suspect you are not capable of fulfilling your duties,” she told him. She began to shake her head and clasped her hands on the desk, still carefully regarding him. “I know that what you are attempting is difficult, but – if anyone is capable, it is you.”

“No, Cassandra, that’s – that’s where you are wrong,” he muttered, and he rested his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. “I’m weak, it’s becoming more difficult every day. I – I need to be relieved. It is in everyone’s best interests.”

“You were more than capable at Adamant,” she insisted. “What has occurred since then? What has made you doubt yourself?”

Cullen swallowed hard, trying to think of how to explain. Finally he heaved a deep sigh and raised his head, leaning his chin on his clasped hands instead.

“I – I should start at the beginning, and tell you everything.”


	10. Her Heart Was Never Meant For This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized I've never actually shared any art or anything of Evelyn, so here's a wonderful piece of art of her from the ever wonderfully talented [@kawereen](http://kawereen.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> And now, the culmination of angst in this fic. From here, it will get better. I promise (and you'll see why at the end).
> 
> xx,  
> Lara

**9:37 Dragon**

 

“My own Knight-Captain,” Meredith pronounced slowly, her voice heavy with shock. Her armored hands tightened on the chair where she held it, gripping it with her head bowed as if she was trying to hold herself up. The leather and metal fastenings of her armor creaked as she did so, but otherwise the office was filled with deafening silence.

“Knight-Commander, please listen to me -” Cullen began, his heart hammering in his ribs.

He’d been so stupid.

“The corruption, the manipulation even affects my own Knight-Captain – is no one safe?” she mused, shaking her head slightly as she stared unseeing at the desk before her.

“It wasn’t manipulation, Evelyn never – please -” he took a deep breath, realizing his words were falling on deaf ears. Desperation seized him, and he swallowed the rising bile in his throat as he steadied himself. He was shaking all over, but he was willing to do anything. Even lie. “Please, it was me – I forced her. I coerced her, I – I raped her. I couldn’t help myself.”

“Because she tempted you, because she wanted you under thrall -”

“No, no – she does not! I am just a weak man. I forced myself on her for my own pleasure, for years, I made her keep it quiet under threat of death. Please, blame me, I am a dishonorable Templar, a horrible man,” he rushed to say, the lies tasting bitter on his tongue. But it had to be done, otherwise Evelyn might be made –

“You were weak because they know your weaknesses, because they know what to look for -”

“ – no, I promise you, it was just me, ever since Kinloch -”

“I wish I could believe you, but she already confessed,” Meredith whispered, and then raised her gaze.

_“What?”_

His heart was beating even faster until he was amazed it didn’t burst from his chest with the momentum.

_Tell me it isn’t possible – tell me she didn’t._

_No, Evelyn, no._

_It was my fault, my promise to keep you safe._

_I failed you._

“You will be removed from the Order, cut off entirely,” Meredith declared, her voice biting and sharp. “You are a disgrace to the Templars, falling so easily under the sway of a maleficar -”

“No, please, I didn’t, she didn’t -”

_A maleficar._

_If they were declaring her that, that meant –_

“Please, punish me, do whatever you like with me, it was all me – but leave – please leave Evleyn alone, just send her back to Ostwick -”

“And let her corruption fester and spread? No,” Meredith shook her head and finally pushed herself away from the chair. “It is a mercy, surely you see that. What we do – she will have a better life. A chance to be useful and harmonious. To obey.”

“No – NO!” Cullen shouted and he twisted in the chair, trying to get away from the armored hands that gripped his shoulders and prevented him from standing. “Please, please -”

“There is no need to beg, no use,” Meredith snapped. “I am ashamed of you, you were never fit to wear the Sword of Mercy on your chest.”

Cullen didn’t even care, he didn’t care one bit that he was being removed from the Order. His only thoughts were of Evelyn, and trying to prevent what Meredith was suggesting.

But his protestations were ignored, and suddenly he found himself dragged to his feet and marched from the room between two Templars. Meredith walked before them, purposeful, not looking back as she led him to one of the rooms in the Gallows.

And his heart clenched in his chest, pain shooting through him when he realized which room they were approaching.

Soft cries sounded from within, and when he was led through the door his eyes moved quickly around the barren room to take it all in.

Evelyn was seated, chained to a chair in the center of the room. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and strands of her black hair were falling all around her.

“No – wait -” he cried, watching in horror as Meredith’s Tranquil, Elsa, gathered sections of Evelyn’s hair and cut it almost to the scalp with a dagger.

“C-Cullen, no – please, don’t make him -” Evelyn cried, looking imploringly at Meredith. “Don’t make him watch -”

“He must,” Meredith snapped. “He needs to see, to understand that we are granting you a mercy after what you did to him.”

“She did not – I forced her – listen to me, she wasn’t at fault, I rap -”

“No, I entranced him, please – this isn’t his fault -”

They yelled over one another, each trying to take the blame, trying to convince Meredith to spare the other.

But she merely shook her head and watched as Elsa continued her work.

“We are not monsters,” Meredith spoke again once they had both fallen into stunned sobs and whispers instead of shouting. “We do not kill – we grant an opportunity to serve, an opportunity to obey and make up for the mistakes made when weak. She will no longer be a danger – instead she will be an aide, a valuable asset. She will no longer try to manipulate, instead she will serve a better purpose. Do you not see?”

“Please – please – please -” Cullen whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks as he watched the dagger sawing at the beautiful midnight strands of Evelyn’s hair.

“C-Cullen, don’t watch,” Evelyn said through her tears. “Please, love – close your eyes – don’t -”

“No, Evelyn, please – _please_ -” he choked out, his eyes riveted to her.

Her hair was jagged now, choppy and so close to the scalp that she looked like she was sick. Lightning eyes held his, tears swimming in them as she shook her head. “Love, love – look away. Don’t, please – for me -”

“Enough!” Meredith interrupted, glaring at Evelyn. “You hold no sway over him any longer.”

The Knight-Commander walked over to a small table and picked up a thin metal rod. It was almost glowing blue, as if something were twisted into the metalwork.

Lyrium – a lyrium brand.

“No, no, no,” Cullen murmured, staring between Meredith and Evelyn’s tear-streaked face. “Knight-Commander, it was me – she doesn’t deserve -”

“She does not deserve mercy,” Meredith cut in. “Yet we give it to her anyway.”

Meredith turned her gaze to his, a smug snarl tugging up her top lip as her eyes gleamed almost triumphantly.

“Look away, Cullen,” Evelyn begged one last time. “Close – c-close your eyes, love.”

Even now, even facing Tranquility, she was trying to save him.

“No -”

“Yes, love,” Evelyn cried, her pale eyes fixated on the metal rod Meredith was wielding before her. “Close your eyes – and remember, _always_ -”

But Meredith stepped forward, raising the lyrium brand before her, and Cullen clenched his eyes shut. The last thing he saw was the terrified look in Evelyn’s eyes, tears streaming unheeded down her cheeks as she stared at him.

A scream – unnatural, piercing, resounding, and blood-curdling – echoed through the room, torn from Evelyn’s throat as if her soul was being ripped from her body.

The sound continued to reverberate through the chamber, horrible gasps of agony mingling with the echoes of her painful separation from the Fade.

Before he could stop himself he opened his eyes and looked, immediately greeted with the sight of Meredith still holding the lyrium brand to Evelyn’s forehead as she convulsed with pain in her chair.

Something was changing, the air around Evelyn swirling blue and purple, but soon the colors faded and the energy was simply grey like smoke.

His eyes were wide, unable to look away, even once Meredith removed the brand and Evelyn slumped in the chair, unconscious.

“Mercy granted,” Meredith murmured, throwing the brand back onto the table. “Ser Connall, please escort this man from the Gallows.”

_“No!”_

He felt mad, insane in his rage. Struggling against the hold of the two Templars who held him, he pushed up from the kneeling position they had him in. He swung his arms, connecting with one of their chins before the other kicked him in the back of his knee.

His leg buckled and he fell to one knee, and just as he glanced up to see the one who had taken him down a large gauntleted fist struck him hard across the face.

Pain tore through his lip, and hot wetness suddenly coated his chin. He staggered but tried to right himself, ignoring the pain in his face to instead focus on those he wanted to hurt.

He wanted to hurt, to torture, to kill – a feeling he had never experienced before.

Hatred.

Pure, unadulterated hatred.

But he was stunned, too reckless, and the Templars were able to get a better hold of him and began to march him out of the room.

His last glimpse of her was her listless, passed out, head limp against her chest, held up by the binds that trapped her in the chair.

Passing through the Gallows, he hardly noticed anything around him, still struggling against the scream that echoed through his mind and the pain throbbing in his upper lip.

Once they were out in the courtyard of the Gallows, though, he felt himself shoved forward and stumbled over his feet, crashing to his knees and rolling as he made contact with the stone.

“Get lost, mage fucker,” a deep voice jeered, and he raised his head to glare at the man.

Connall.

The bastard.

“You’ll get yours,” Cullen gritted out, hatred tainting each syllable as he spat it. “Mark my words.”

“Oh I’ll mark them, mage lover,” Connall snickered. “Have fun begging for lyrium on the streets – I hope the cunt was worth it.”

For several long moments Cullen simply stared after him.

What was he going to do?

Everything was a blur, he wasn’t quite certain what he was doing. When he felt a dull thud and ache on the side of his hand it took him a few moments to realize it was because he was pounding his fist against a sturdy wooden door.

It opened and he looked around with a frown, not seeing anyone in sight.

“Good evening, Serah,” a cheerful voice greeted him, and he frowned a moment longer before he finally looked down. “You – you are injured, please – come in.”

The dwarf who greeted him stepped aside, and without a moment’s hesitation he charged into the mansion.

“Hawke!” he roared, staring around the deserted but still mansion, hardly taking in the stone and casual décor of the rooms.

“Maker – I’m coming, I’m coming,” Hawke’s soft voice called to him, and finally he saw her come into view, running down the staircase with a frown etched on her face. “Cullen! Where were you? We waited for hours, I tried to go find you – what happened to your lip? Where’s Evelyn?”

When he opened his mouth he choked on the words, unable to answer any of her questions. A scream was still reverberating through his skull, making his head ache painfully as it blocked out all other thought.

_Gone._

_She’s gone._

“We – we didn’t make it out,” he finally said, his voice cracking.

“Oh no – tell me – tell me everything’s – where’s Evelyn?” she asked again, hurrying forward to peer up into his eyes.

“G-gone,” he whispered, and he closed his eyes to fight off a wave of nausea as it hit him.

“Maker – tell me Meredith didn’t – didn’t -”

“They’re sending her back to Ostwick.”

The words came pouring out of his mouth before he could stop himself. The truth was too terrible, he couldn’t bear to speak it aloud.

“That’s – that’s not the worst thing,” Hawke said. “But why are you here? And let me look at your lip, please – Anders!” This last bit she called over her shoulder, and Anders hurried from the library off the main hall.

“N-no, no magic, just – just let me -”

“Don’t be an ass, Cullen,” Hawke scolded. “Let us get you patched up. Why are you here, though? If you got caught -”

“I have been – removed from the Order,” he confessed quietly.

All those years, all those sacrifices made, and for what?

He had lost everything.

“I – I’m so sorry, Cullen,” Hawke told him, and she rested her hand on his shoulder. “You can stay here, we’ll get you back on your feet. Maybe we’ll find a way to get you to Ostwick, so you can -”

“No,” Cullen interrupted, tears springing to his eyes again. “I – I appreciate the help, though, but -”

“I insist you stay here,” Hawke said firmly, standing with her arms folded as she frowned at him. “We’ll help you out. That’s what friends are for, right? After all, I -”

A look almost like guilt passed across her face, and he wondered if she was thinking about how things could have gone differently, what she could have done to prevent them getting caught.

“Anders will get you patched up,” she said, and then she turned to speak with the dwarf who had let him into the mansion.

For the middle of the night, the Hawke mansion was bustling, her companions passing in and out. Anders gave him elfroot and stitched his lip when he refused healing magic, and Varric sat beside him at the fire, silent for once but just providing him company as he mourned. Isabela passed him a bottle of ale before she left, and Merrill hesitantly patted him on the shoulder with a sad smile.

Fenris actually offered help as well as condolences, but when Cullen ignored both he nodded as if he understood and instead moved to take Hawke by the hand.

“There is nothing more to do for him tonight, amatus,” he told her in his soft, low voice. He led her up the stairs, but she glanced over her shoulder at where Cullen sat before the fire with a pained expression on her face.

_Gone._

When the mansion finally stilled he remained sitting before the fire, staring at the flames as the memories poured over him again and again.

The fear in her eyes, the painful way her voice cracked as she begged him not to watch, the sound of her scream at the moment she was ripped in two – he knew they would stay with him for the rest of his life.

His last memories of _her_.

 

* * *

 

“It was only two weeks before the explosion of the Chantry,” Cullen sighed, his throat raw and his voice hoarse from how long he had been talking. It had to have been hours, considering he had started with Kinloch and the events that led him to Kirkwall. “If I had just waited, and hadn’t tried to sneak her out, we wouldn’t have been caught. She maybe would have survived the bloodshed, and she would – she would still be whole.”

He glanced up to see Cassandra staring at her hands on the desk, obviously lost in thought. If he wasn’t wrong, her lips were almost trembling as if she was holding back emotion. “And -” her voice cracked and she cleared her throat before trying again. “And what did you do then?”

“I stayed with Hawke, at her mansion. Anders found a small cache of lyrium, and I began to wean myself off of it with his help,” he told her. “I was at her mansion when I heard the Chantry explode, and I put my armor on and grabbed my sword, intending to go help the city. Instead…”

He trailed off and ran a hand over his mouth as he remembered.

“Instead what?” Cassandra prompted him.

“Instead, when I met up with Hawke, I helped her try to defend the mages,” he answered, his voice low. “I fought beside her in the courtyard when Meredith confronted her, and I -”

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, picturing the battle clear as day, the truth that only a few people knew, the few people who had been there that day to witness his actions.

“I fought against Meredith, driven mad with rage and grief, finally seeing my chance for revenge,” he said, his voice firm and unwavering. “I cut down Ser Connall personally, good riddance to the bastard. I overpowered Meredith – and ran her through myself. I gutted her like an animal, and I would do it again a hundred times over if I could.”

He raised his gaze to Cassandra’s and saw a momentary look of surprise come across her stoic face.

“Varric told me -”

“Varric told you what he tells everyone, that she turned into a red lyrium statue,” Cullen gave a hollow laugh. “He likes the dramatic effect. But the truth is, I killed Meredith. She took everything from me, she ruined someone who was pure and magnificent, whose only crime was loving someone who wasn't worthy of her goodness.”

Silence fell between them as Cassandra absorbed his words, and he felt oddly calm to have it off his chest, to have confessed the weight of his sins to another person. Whatever happened now, he was willing to face it.

“You were removed from the Order for loving a mage,” Cassandra began slowly, her brows furrowed.

“That is correct.”

“How is it when I arrived, you were the Knight-Commander?”

“Only the Templars in Kirkwall knew that I had been removed from the Order, and the ones who were left, the ones who fought against Meredith’s madness,” he shrugged. “They were willing to follow me. They asked me to lead them. I had saved one of their lives with Hawke, once – Ser Thrask, and he was the highest ranking Templar. He offered me the position instead.”

“And you accepted?” Cassandra sounded surprised.

“I accepted to protect the city, the mages who remained,” Cullen explained. “And I – I went into the Gallows, intending to find E-Evelyn, and when I did, I knew I had to stay. I kept her with me, and she seemed to want to stay by my side. As Knight-Commander, I was able to protect her.”

“So naturally when you joined the Inquisition -”

“I asked you to let me bring my assistant, yes,” Cullen sighed. “I thought having her with me always, protecting her from the chaos – I thought it would help. But it’s only made things worse. I see her every day, but it’s not – it’s not her, not really. Instead it’s just a reminder of how I lost her.”

Another silence fell, and Cassandra seemed to fidget with her hands for a moment, almost looking as if she was trying to steady herself.

“I loved – _love_ her too much,” he confessed softly. “And the guilt I feel, the pain – I am of no more use to the Inquisition. I am too distracted by the weight of my sins. I should simply retire, someone else could better lead the forces -”

“Do not sell yourself short, Cullen,” Cassandra interrupted firmly. When he opened his mouth to protest she shot him a silencing glare. “Besides, I – now that I know the story, I – well…”

She trailed off and glanced beside her at a large tome resting on her desk. For a few moments she simply stared at it, her lips pursed as if she was thinking hard.

“I recently made a discovery with the Inquisitor’s help, about the Order and the – the manner with which one becomes a Seeker of Truth,” she said. “I think, perhaps, it is time for me to share my own story with you. It may help your troubles, Commander.”


	11. Held Me Brand New in the Silence

“It – it has to be your decision, Miss Grey.”

But even as he said the words, even though he tried to make himself believe them, his heart was racing.

_What if she refused?_

_What if in her logical, Tranquil mind, she preferred this?_

“What would you have me do, my Commander?” she asked, dull grey eyes staring up into his face.

“No, that’s not – this needs to be your decision, you – you have to decide for yourself,” he implored her, watching as her expression remained neutral.

He was offering her a chance – offering them both a chance.

And she still had no reaction to it.

He had raced back as soon as he knew, almost the moment Cassandra had stopped talking. His heart hadn’t stopped pounding, his stomach twisting until he felt lightheaded.

A cure – a _cure_.

A way to have her back.

_Say yes, please, please say yes._

“What would make you happy, my Commander?” she asked.

“I -” the question was unexpected. “This is about you -”

“My purpose is to help you, to aid you,” she answered calmly. “I am devoted to your well being. Would you have me undergo a cure? Would that help your well being? Would you no longer be distressed by the sight of me?”

He almost staggered back as he looked at her, but still she stared at him with a blank look in her eyes.

“I – I cannot make this decision for you,” he tried to tell her, but she shook her head once.

“I only wish to help you,” she replied. She stared at him for a moment, dull grey voids wandering over his face before returning to his golden gaze. “I will do it.”

“Are you – are you certain? We do not know, we have no way of being certain what could happen, how you might feel,” he told her. She was trying to say yes, but he was scared – what if she regretted it, or something went wrong?

But he could have her back.

There was a chance.

“If I do this you will be happy,” she replied. “That is reason enough to try.”

Tears sprang to his eyes, and before he could help himself he pulled her into his arms.

“I promise, I will take care of you,” he murmured. “No matter what happens.”

“I know you will, my Commander.”

 

* * *

  

It didn’t take as long as he thought it would to get everything together.

Once he told Hawke, she began researching night and day in the library with Fenris’ reluctant help. And once Dorian heard the tale from her, he began his own research, sparked by a memory of something he had seen once in the Imperium.

The days passed tortuously slow, though, every moment dragging by as he simply waited to hear news. Josephine and Leliana tried to get him to help plan their approach for the Winter Palace, but he was unable to focus.

Instead he frequently left meetings to hurry to the library, to see what Hawke and Dorian had found. Cassandra had said a spirit needed to be coaxed to reach out of the Fade – all they needed was the ritual.

And still Miss Grey sat beside him or walked behind him, silent when they were around anyone but Hawke. She showed no excitement or reaction to the news of her imminent cure, instead she continued to observe everything with blank neutrality.

Although sometimes he caught her staring at him, but with no hint of emotion on her face he had no way of discerning why. When asked, she simply said she was assessing the change in his demeanor.

“You no longer look so distressed,” she replied mildly. “I am glad.”

“Are you still certain you wish to do this?” he asked, feeling doubt overcome him again.

No matter how many times he asked her, she gave the same answer. “Yes, I will do it. For you, my Commander.”

He was weak, and selfish – willing to let her do this for him.

He only wanted her back, willing to achieve it by any means – with any outcome.

A week passed before there came a knock on his tower door late at night, excited whispers sounding on the other side as he approached.

Dorian and Hawke were standing at the door, Dorian holding an ancient leather tome covered in a runic language Cullen didn’t recognize. When they saw him, their eyes lit up and they both broke into wide smiles.

“We found it,” Hawke told him.

“Excuse me, I found it,” Dorian corrected, but Hawke simply chuckled breathlessly, resting her hand on her growing stomach as she stared at Cullen with a smile.

“We can cure her, Cullen,” she said.

_We can cure her._

He didn’t sleep. He couldn’t work.

Instead he prepared himself as if for an important event, for a special evening with her as he once would have. He shaved his face, he dressed meticulously and he decided to forego the pomade he had begun to use in his hair back in Kirkwall.

He remembered how she loved his curls, how she used to run her fingers through them and teased him about them. He hadn’t let himself enjoy them in years.

But now…

He straightened how his shirt was tucked in again, taking a deep breath. Glancing at her, he took a moment to look her over, still noticing how she had no reaction to anything going on around her.

Dull grey eyes looked up at him, and his breath caught in his throat.

It was odd – was he saying goodbye to her? What would she think, what would happen? Would it be the opposite, Miss Grey stuck inside Evelyn?

Or was she what was holding Evelyn back at present, just dulled, muted?

The thoughts chilled him to the bone, and he looked away from her.

“Follow me, please,” he told her, and he led her across the battlements that led into the keep, passing by where Solas usually studied.

He wasn’t there, which meant they were already getting prepared.

Cullen led Miss Grey through the keep, down into the dark, damp bowels, the cellars that were only used for storage. There was a large, empty side room they had decided to use, away from most everything in case something went wrong.

“Are you all right, still?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at the small figure walking silently beside him.

“Yes, I am,” she answered, but something sounded different in her voice. “Will it be uncomfortable – painful?”

“I – I do not know,” he told her. “Are you scared?”

“I – I would like for this to be over,” she answered, and he frowned, uncertain what she meant. But she did not elaborate, and he had no idea if she even fully knew how to explain what she was feeling.

_Tranquil who have the process reversed can become unstable, Cassandra had told him._

_Even unstable, if she was still Evelyn, if it was her again, we could get through anything else._

_Anything else would be worth having her be **her**. I’ll do anything, I’ll be a better man – please, Maker, let this work._

When they entered the room he saw the small group gathered to help see this through. Cassandra and Rylen were standing in full armor, and his stomach lurched when he realized they had their swords and shields propped against the wall behind them - in case things took a turn for the worst. Solas and Marian were speaking softly together, and Fenris was standing in a corner behind them, his arms folded in front of him and a black scowl on his face. He looked like he wouldn't be here if the choice was his.

Dorian was preparing something in the center of the room, a strange glowing purple smoke wafting through the air.

“Ah, Commander,” he greeted with a smile. “Are we ready?”

“I -” he glanced at Miss Grey, but her expression remained the same as her dull grey eyes moved over the room and its occupants. “Are you ready, Miss Grey?”

The soft whispers of everyone in the room stopped at his words and they all turned to fix their gazes on the small Tranquil beside him. After a moment’s hesitation she walked forward.

“I am.”

A tense silence met her words, and then Marian and Solas hurried forward.

“We need to draw a spirit to you, Evelyn,” Hawke told her, looking over Miss Grey’s face and holding her shoulders. “We will need you to focus, to – to think about why you want to go through this.”

Miss Grey waited one moment and then glanced behind her, dull grey searching out golden amber.

“I can do that,” she said after a moment.

_Selfish._

_No – she needs this. She didn’t deserve this punishment._

_This will help her._

“Well then, my dear,” Dorian said and he stepped toward Miss Grey. “This way, if you will. We need to give you space.”

He guided her to the center of the room, in the middle of the swirling energy, of candles lit and runes drawn on the floor in glowing purple and green magic. Dorian encouraged her to kneel in the center and she did so, clasping her hands in her lap as she looked up at all of the faces peering at her.

“Close your eyes, Evelyn, and focus,” Marian told her, and she ran a hand over her hair before she stepped away. “This will all be over soon.”

Silence greeted her words, and after a moment she sighed and backed away to stand beside Solas and Fenris.

Dorian stepped before the collection of runes in which she was kneeling and he snapped his fingers. The torches lining the room went out, leaving the room dark except for the eerie flowing light of the green and purple runes on the stones of the floor.

“All I need of you, dear Miss Grey,” Dorian said softly, “is to focus on your intention here today.”

“Yes, Dorian,” she answered in a monotone, and she closed her eyes.

The green and purple lights danced on her pale face as well as those of the spectators, and the room stilled besides the swirling magic as if they were all holding their breaths.

Cullen’s heart was racing, pounding against his ribs until he almost couldn’t hear anything but its desperate, frantic rhythm.

_Please, please let this work._

_Andraste, Maker – bring her back to me._

_Let this work._

Dorian’s low, posh voice began chanting softly, words that Cullen didn’t understand. They were either ancient or Tevene – or perhaps both.

The glowing light of the runes began to raise and swirl, green and purple turning into a blinding eddy until the colors were almost burned into his vision. Dorian continued chanting, the cadence of his voice lulling Cullen into an almost peaceful, mesmerized trance.

There was something soothing about the rhythm of the words, and Cullen found his eyes almost glazing over as he watched the swirling magic around Miss Grey.

His apprehension was fleeing slightly as he watched, even though he still found himself nervous about what could happen.

_Maker, Andraste, anyone who wants to hear the prayers of a sinner like me – please, let this work._

_Bring her back to me._

Something changed in the room, something bright and shining began to appear in its center. He almost wasn’t certain, he couldn’t see a full outline. Almost the color of raspberries, or roses, a glowing miasma in the shape of a person began to form before Miss Grey.

Odd echoes sounded in the room, almost like a voice, yet nothing said was audible or coherent. Instead just the sound of swirling mist and reverberations of magic filled the chamber, but Cullen watched in awe as the glowing rosy mist moved forward.

Miss Grey’s brows furrowed slightly, her lips parting but still she didn’t open her eyes. The hair covering her forehead brushed aside to reveal the brand that was hidden there, and Cullen felt his breath catch in his throat.

_Please – please –_

The rosy pink cloud shifted, part of it reached out, and then a bright light shone throughout the chamber, temporarily blinding him.

A crackle began in the air as a loud cry sounded and tore through him, and then everything exploded as if a thundercloud hung above them in the room. Lightning struck the walls and ground of the chamber, zapping and jolting, the hair on Cullen’s arms and neck as well as his head standing on end.

Gasps and cries were sounding from the center of the room, sporadic lightning still bounding off the stone walls.

Rylen hurried forward and Cullen felt the air shift – he had cast a Silence.

In an instant the lightning stopped, and he was able to see clearly.

She was slumped in the middle of the room, her arms stretched out before her, her forehead pressed to the stone floor. Her back was rising and falling quickly with her breaths, but also like silent cries were wracking her body.

He hesitated only a moment more before he hurried forward and threw himself to his knees before her.

“Ev-Evelyn?” he murmured, placing his hands on her shoulders and pulling her into his arms. “Evelyn, please – speak to me, are you all right? Are you – are you -”

Her breathing was shallow, her brows furrowed and her eyes clamped shut. But after a moment she reached a hand up and grasped his shirt, and her eyelids began to flutter open.

Pale, beautiful, lively lightning eyes stared up at him, wandering over his face as if drinking it in. They shifted between the golden eyes that were absorbing the fact of her, the change in how she was looking at him. Tears were welling in his eyes and his lips trembled, fighting the urge to pull her to him and crash his lips to hers.

“Cu-Cullen?” she said softly, and she reached up with a hand to cup his cheek. Tingling greeted him with the gesture, almost shocking him with the reality of the sensation, the electric feeling of her touch. “Cullen, darling? I’m – I’m -”

“You’re all right,” he told her, tightening his grip on her and burying his face in her hair. Rain invaded his senses, the smell of a spring storm coming crashing back to him as if across millennia. “You’re here, Evelyn. I’ve got you – you’re back. You’ve come back to me.”


	12. You Were On My Mind

“A Spirit of Love.”

“Is that – are you certain?”

“Yes, surely you saw its form?” Solas held his gaze as he peered at him, as if he could see the truth in Cullen’s eyes if he looked hard enough.

“I – I saw a glow, it was like – like a miasma the color of a rose,” Cullen told him, his brows furrowing. “Were you able to see more?”

“Yes, I was able to see its true form, as I am certain the Champion and Dorian could as well,” Solas answered, clasping his hands behind his back and glancing away. “From what I was told of the situation with Miss Grey – excuse me, Evelyn, I am hardly surprised that that is who she attracted.”

Cullen turned his head, looking the same direction as Solas, and he was silent as he watched the hushed conversation happening in the center of the room. Cassandra was standing nearby, her arms folded, ready for action. But Marian and Dorian were standing close to Evelyn, Marian holding her hands and looking close to tears. Dorian was speaking softly, and Evelyn was answering just as quietly.

So far she had cried, and laughed, alternating between the two as if confused and slightly overwhelmed. Cullen had held her, shedding a few tears himself, but then she had been hurried out of his arms to be inspected.

Rylen was pacing slightly in the room, and he finally made his way to stand beside Cullen. “Commander, I think we may need to keep her under observation. We should have a Templar stand guard, keep an eye on her,” Rylen said, folding his arms as he followed Cullen’s gaze. “Her magic is unstable, I can feel it in the air -”

“She knows how to control it,” Cullen shook his head. “She – she will be fine.”

He tried to hide the doubt from his voice. She had been an incredible mage before the Rite, and when he had asked her about demons she had said that she was rarely approached. Her Harrowing had taken place earlier than normal, but been an easy success by all accounts.

Something about her, just pure goodness...

He shook his head again. “She will manage, and I will keep her close.”

“Not to speak out of turn, Commander,” Rylen sighed and glanced sideways at him. “But I think perhaps someone who could still – handle problems – should be on hand, should anything go awry.”

“I -” Cullen hesitated.

Should he take it again? In case she needed to be suppressed, in case her magic fluctuated when she was around him and she couldn’t get it under control?

The idea of letting someone else watch her or suppress her if it was needed was upsetting to him, but he couldn’t quite figure out why. It was as if he felt responsible for her.

“I didn’t mean to imply you aren’t capable, Ser,” Rylen added when Cullen didn’t say anything. “I just worry about the lass’ safety, is all. I’d hate for something to happen to her, after she just – after what she’s been through.”

Cullen nodded and sighed, raising a hand to his forehead and dragging his fingers along it. “You make a fair point, Rylen, but I think it will be fine. Should the situation change, I – I will revisit the suggestion.”

“Aye, Commander,” Rylen nodded and fell silent, returning his gaze to the small group surrounding Evelyn.

“Please, I should be – I just – I’m tired, is all,” Evelyn said softly. “I feel weary to the bone.”

“Understandable, my dear,” Dorian told her. “It’s not every day you get touched by Love and force fed all of your emotional responses from the last few years. I believe the rest will do you good.”

“You can stay with me, or we can get you a room set up -” Marian began, but Evelyn began shaking her head.

“I – I want my bed,” she answered, sounding annoyed and frustrated. “I want something familiar. I just – please I’d like to lie down.”

“Ev-Evelyn, I can take you if you’d like,” Cullen interjected, stepping forward a few paces. But his voice wavered and he felt himself suddenly doubtful.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust himself with her – it was that he didn’t think she would want to be near him.

She had held a hand to his cheek, had called him darling, but then she had begun crying hysterically, pulling herself out of his arms, and pressing lightly to his chest, away from him. He hadn’t known what to do, and then everyone else had bustled around them, helping her to her feet, working to inspect her, and he had been pushed aside, forgotten.

What if she didn’t want to be with him?

What if she blamed him, what if she never forgave him?

He wasn’t a good man – weak, selfish, angry, and broken. He had her back, but he could never truly undo what had been done, to either of them. And he certainly wasn’t worthy of being forgiven for that, or forgiven for any of his other transgressions.

It was likely he needed to content himself with the fact that she was back to herself, that she could heal and live, even if that meant she needed to do it away from him.

To his amazement she turned around and smiled brightly at him, nodding her head. “Yes, please, Cullen – I just want some quiet, my – my mind won’t still.”

“Of – of course,” he reached out a hand toward her and she suddenly hurried forward and slipped her small hand in his, still smiling as if giddy.

He frowned, curious at her reaction, but he simply squeezed her fingers gently and looked around the room. Curious expressions greeted him, but he nodded curtly and turned to lead Evelyn back to the tower.

She walked quickly beside him, her hand resting comfortably within his. It reminded him of better days, when he held her hand as they lay in bed together. Walking beside her holding her hand like this felt brazen, and unnatural.

The feeling had nothing to do with her curious reactions or the fact that it was actually _her_ hand he was holding. Instead, it made his heart flutter, and he glanced down at her, taking in the sight of her.

“Are you – how are you feeling, Evelyn?” he asked as they crossed the battlements toward his office.

“I am – feeling quite a bit,” she answered softly. Her voice wavered slightly and he noticed that her lips were trembling before she tightened them as if trying to hold back emotion.

It didn’t work though, and soon teardrops slid down her cheeks. She stopped walking and wiped at them, and then began laughing as she cried. Cullen halted as well and stepped before her, but he was unsure of himself, wanting to comfort her yet feeling like he was the last person who should be.

“I – Evelyn, are you all right?” he asked, his voice low.

“I’m – I’m not sure,” she confessed, and she laughed and wiped at more tears. “It’s overwhelming, to say the least. I can’t – I can’t make sense of anything.”

“Perhaps someone should look at you, perhaps Solas or Dorian -”

“No, no, please – I just – I want to rest,” she interrupted, and her voice was almost snappish. She sighed and looked up at him, pressing a hand to her forehead and looking disconcerted. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean – I – Maker, what a mess.”

“It’s all right, Evelyn, I understand,” he told her, and he took a few more steps forward until his senses were filled with the smell of petrichor that was clinging to her. He wanted to drink in the scent, he wanted to wrap his arms around her and reassure her, but he held himself back.

“Everything is happening all at once,” she sighed. “It’s – it’s as if too much is happening simultaneously, and I can’t focus on just one thing.”

“Is it – is it memories? Feelings? Thoughts?” he frowned, trying to think through how he could help her.

“All of that and more,” she shrugged. Her fingers were still rubbing her forehead, and they brushed aside the hair to reveal the brand. Her lips trembled once more as she ran her fingers over the puckered skin, and tears came to her pale eyes once more. “It’s like I’m feeling everything I haven’t felt since – since that – since she -”

And suddenly she surged forward and threw herself into his arms, making him stagger back slightly at the impact. He only hesitated a moment before he tightened his arms around her and held her to him, letting her sob into his shirt, one hand holding her head.

“It’s over now,” he told her softly. “We – we can get through this, we can get through anything.”

“The – the fear keeps coming back to me, and anger, and just – so much pain,” she cried. “I remember waking up, and I was just…I – I just felt so numb. Meredith was standing there in front of me, and even though I knew, I remembered what had just happened, I – I couldn’t hate her. I felt nothing. She was standing in front of me smiling and I just – sat there, ready to obey.”

His arms tightened and he felt his throat choke with emotion, his eyes blurring with tears as he absorbed her words.

“She put me to work with Elsa, and I – I complied,” she said. “I didn’t even feel scared, anymore. I – I wondered where you were, but it was – different. Like mild curiosity, just a vague notion that I hoped they hadn’t killed you. And that was – that was it.”

Reflexively he buried his nose in her hair, leaning down for reassurance and comfort, needing desperately to envelop his senses in her.

“None of this is your fault, Evelyn,” he told her. “It’s – it’s mine.”

“No, Cullen, don’t say that,” she shook her head but didn’t raise her gaze. “It was hers, she was – she was insane. She did this.”

But she began crying harder, her fists twisting in his shirt as she clung to him.

“I wish I could forget,” she sobbed, and the pain in her voice tore through him until he felt a tear roll down his cheek.

“I am so sorry, Evelyn,” he choked out. “I – did I wrong you, bringing you back? Did I – did I cause you pain?”

“N-no, Cullen, you have no idea how grateful I am,” she raised her gaze to his. “I – I was trapped. I was seeing everything as if through a fog, with no reaction, unable to process it fully. I was watching you suffer and I – I couldn’t – I didn’t know what to do.”

“You – I -” he thought back to everything that had happened, the pain and suffering he had been through with her following so close behind him. “I am sorry, I never should have put you through that, it was selfish of me to keep you beside me. I – I felt that I deserved it, that I needed to punish myself as much as I simply wanted to protect you, I -”

“Why would you need to punish yourself?” she asked, staring up at him with a frown on her face. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I failed you, I promised to keep you safe, and instead -”

“You _were_ trying to protect me, though -”

“Yes, and I failed,” he gritted out, and he stepped away from her and pinched the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes. The memories were coming back, the sound of her scream echoing through his mind.

“I – I don’t blame you,” she told him, and she stepped forward and rested a hand on his chest. “I – I couldn’t blame you. I never did. When you – when you rescued me, right after the battle, I – I saw you and I -”

When she fell silent he finally opened his eyes and stared down at her once more. She looked confused, absolutely baffled, as if she was struggling to make sense of something. “I can’t explain it, I – it was like I found my purpose, seeing you standing there.”

“Your – purpose?” he asked slowly.

“Yes,” she nodded and glanced up at him. “I – I had the memories, but not the feelings. I didn’t feel the same about you, but I also couldn’t feel nothing. Instead, it – it shifted, transformed into something else. I knew that you had meant something, that you had been more important to me than anything. And so I just – knew. I had to stay with you, stay near you, that maybe you needed me, and I – I needed you.”

“You needed me?”

“You gave me a purpose, something to focus on,” she answered, her voice low as if she wasn’t quite certain what to make of her words or the memories. “It was – enjoyable. Calming, soothing. It was nearly obsessive, now that I think about it. All my thoughts were of you, of easing your burdens. It wasn’t love, but it was – care. I cared, in the only way I knew how.”

“I – I treated you horribly, Evelyn, I didn’t deserve your care,” he told her, his voice cracking as he stepped away from her and dragged a hand down the lower half of his face. He was angry with himself, unworthy of the care and devotion she had shown him, of these words of forgiveness and understanding that she was saying to him now. “Maker, I – I yelled at you, vented my frustration at you, I treated you no better than a servant, I – I -”

He remembered the nights when he felt truly mad, the things he had said and done to her. Glancing sideways at her he took in the way her hair now covered her forehead, shame washing over him as he remembered that night.

“Evelyn, I held a knife to your throat, and Maker forgive me, I meant to do it,” he gasped out, shaking his head and staggering to the stone wall of the bridge beside him. He leaned his hands on it, hanging his head in shame.

“I know you did,” she answered simply.

“What?” he glanced up at her, a frown coming upon his face as his eyes roamed over the soft look on her face. “You – you had no reaction, you stood there. I – I was going to kill you, and you just say that you know I meant to do it?”

“I,” her mouth hung open for a moment as if she was struggling with the words. She wrung her hands for a moment, taking a few steps to stand beside him to look over the courtyard below them. It was obvious she needed time to find the words to tell him, and he stayed still and silent as he waited for her. “I – I knew you meant to do it, I knew that you wanted to. But I – in my mind, I – if it had helped you, if it had eased your suffering, then I thought you should do it.”

“You – you thought I _should?”_ he whispered, horrified.

“It – it made sense to me, in a bizarre way that I can’t fully comprehend or explain now,” she murmured, and glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes. “I – all I could think was that if it helped you, you should do it, and I should let you.”

Her words broke him, and he leaned forward to rest his forehead on the cold, rough stone. Hot tears slid down his cheeks, instantly chilling in the frigid air surrounding them. His sobs shook his body, his fingers gripping the wall until they ached and chafed from the roughness of the stone.

“I was never worthy of your goodness, not even – not even before,” he finally said, his voice thick with his tears. “I – I am sorry, Evelyn. I know I can never dare hope to be forgiven -”

“Cullen, you are forgiven,” she told him, turning to face him and resting a hand on his back. “I – I still have a ways to go, I still have – I still need to heal. But I never once thought – I still do not think – that you are to blame for any of this. What was done to me – it broke both of us, darling. We just need time to put the pieces back together.”

He smirked and shook his head, even though his heart still ached. She had always been so good, her gentle soul the thing he had cherished and loved – and missed – the most.

“I will do everything I can to help you heal, lo – Evelyn,” he said, clenching his eyes shut as he almost slipped. He loved her still, he knew, but he also knew she wasn’t ready for this.

And she maybe never would be.

“Please, I’m – I’m exhausted, can I retire?” she asked softly.

“Yes, of course,” he straightened once more and brushed at his cheeks. “I am sorry, I know you said you were tired. Let’s – we have all the time in the world to continue this, later.”

He gestured for her to lead the way, but she hesitated and frowned at him. After a moment she held out her hand, and despite his hesitation he acquiesced and took it in his before he began to lead the way.

It gave him hope the way she kept touching him, so casual, so easily. So – intimate.

He wasn’t certain he deserved that hope, though, and he told himself that he was just giving her comfort, acting as an anchor while she adjusted.

That was all.

When they entered his office she finally let go of his hand and crossed to the ladder, but paused and turned to stare at him.

“Will you – will you stay with me?” she asked, her lightning eyes fixed on him imploringly.

“I – well, I -” he hesitated, but she blinked her eyes at him, looking as if she wanted to cry.

“I’m – I’m scared, Cullen,” she confessed, her voice barely audible. “Please, stay with me.”

“Of course,” he answered, doubt leaving him as soon as he heard her say she was scared.

She nodded and gave a quick smile, turning to head up the ladder. He followed once she was at the top, his heart racing for some reason.

Was it her fear, making him nervous that something could go wrong?

Or was it unwanted anticipation, longing he shouldn’t feel that she was going to be in that loft – _her_ , actually, really _her?_

When he reached the top he saw that she was pulling back the sheets on the small bed in the corner. He couldn’t tell if it was disappointment or possibly resignation that flooded him at the sight. In a way, it almost felt reassuring, and he realized why almost instantly.

She still trusted him.

She was taking her place where she was comfortable, yet still asking him to stay with her. It was as if she knew, as if she recognized that he would never press her or ask more of her until she was ready.

If she ever was.

He held back the sigh he wanted to heave as he turned away to give her privacy to change into a night shift. The bed creaked after a moment and he glanced cautiously to see that she was settling back on the pillow. Unable to resist the urge he walked forward and helped straighten the blankets, trying to make certain she was covered and comfortable.

“I’ll be down in the office -” he began.

“No, Cullen, can you – at least while I’m falling asleep, can you – please, stay here? Where I can – where I can see you if I need – need you?” she asked, her voice trembling. It was clear she was terrified, and he sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand in his.

“I’ll sit here with you all night, if you’d like for me to,” he told her. She was going to be back in the Fade, he realized. For the first time in years.

“Thank you, darling,” she murmured, and she curled on her side but tightened her hold on his hand. She gave him a fleeting smile and then closed her eyes to seek her slumber.

For a moment he remembered this sight, the sight of Miss Grey sleeping like this, only now his fantasy was the reality.

It was her.

On impulse he leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “I’ll be here if you need me, dearest. Always.”


	13. But There's A Beauty In Being Broken, I've Been Seeing It

“She says she always knew me.”

“What?”

He glanced at where she stood beside him, his mantle wrapped around her shoulders. The twilight made her skin glow almost, soft peach in her cheeks from the air, frigid and heavy as if it was about to start snowing. She looked healthy, a small smile playing at the corners of her rosy lips as she looked over the battlements at the snowy mountains surrounding them.

These evening walks were becoming their habit, a peaceful time for them to stroll together and talk about their days, or about nothing at all. Two weeks had passed now, two weeks that he had carefully watched her to see how she was healing.

Her sleep was somehow uninterrupted, and though he wanted to ask her he had avoided the subject. He was happy to have her back, even if her moods were unpredictable at times, even if she sometimes looked around herself as if she was lost and confused. And the times when she cried, when she was angry, he let her seek him out and held her until she quieted, if that was what she wanted.

Somehow, it almost always was. She still slept in her own small bed, but when she needed comforting she sought him out, even if she just needed a hand to hold. It gave him hope, knowing that she still relied on him to help her regain her strength and anchor her against everything she was still trying to come to terms with.

“The Spirit,” she answered finally, and she moved one hand from where it gripped the fur of his mantle to the stone before her. Her head tilted slightly, and he noticed she was avoiding his gaze as if she was nervous.

“The – the Spirit? Which Spirit?” he asked, stepping forward and trying to peer into her face. Despite himself, despite the calm tone of her voice, he found his heart racing at her words.

“Love,” she told him, and her pale eyes flitted to his face before returning to gaze out at the snow beyond Skyhold.

“When did she tell you this?”

“She – she speaks to me in the Fade,” she explained. “She said she was always drawn to me, before. She was sad when suddenly I seemed as if I disappeared from the Fade. She – she heard Dorian’s calls, and knew he was calling for _me_ , if – if that makes sense. I’m not certain I can explain it, we experience the Fade so differently when we dream.”

He gripped the stone of the ramparts, frowning as he looked out at the slowly darkening sky. He wasn’t quite certain what to make of her words, but he realized he had no idea what he had expected to happen when she was cured of her Tranquility. He had known it meant contacting a spirit, but he hadn't thought about what that would actually mean or entail. “She – she seeks you out in the Fade? Does she want anything?”

“No, it’s not like that,” her brow furrowed and she almost looked annoyed for a moment. “Now, it’s like we have a connection. Before she said she just – watched me. She was fascinated by me, she said she related to me, like I was a kindred – kindred spirit. Especially once I met you.”

She glanced up at him furtively, almost looking as if she blushed. The tender look in her eyes, the implication of her words made his stomach tie into knots.

He smirked and cleared his throat. “Once you met me?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice barely audible. “I – I loved you from the first. That moment when you charged in, when you rescued me from Ser Connall, I - I just knew -”

“I killed him,” he interjected, unable to resist the words pouring out of his mouth. He hung his head, closing his eyes against the silence that greeted his words. “I am sorry, I did not mean to – I should not have brought it up.”

“I’m glad you did,” she murmured. She was silent for a few moments more and then turned to face him. “I still remember, the look on his face when he was holding you, forcing you to watch. He and Meredith both, they were – they were poison. I’m not sorry they’re gone.”

She hesitated a moment more and then reached with her hand and rested it on top of where his was on the stone. Her thumb rubbed soft circles on the back of his hand, her gaze fixed on her delicate, pale fingers over his. He stared at the contact as well, enjoying the soft tingling sensation her skin created against his. Lifting his other hand he laid it on top of hers and squeezed lightly, tentative but hopeful.

It was finally beginning to snow, their breath coming out as a fog, and when he glanced at her he saw the way the snowflakes clung to her raven hair and her eyelashes. When he caught her eye she smiled at him, that same soft and tender look coming into the pale depths as she stared up at him.

In another time, it would have been a perfect moment and he would have eagerly pressed her against the stone ramparts and stolen passionate kisses from her.

Instead he smiled and squeezed her hand once more before he pushed himself away from the walls. “We should go back inside, I would hate for you to get too cold,” he murmured, and he motioned for her to lead the way back to his office.

She sighed and nodded, looking out beyond Skyhold one last time before she began the walk back. He fell into step beside her, rubbing his neck as he looked over the courtyard at the patrols still pacing the grounds. It had been easier to focus lately, easier to perform his duties as the Commander. He glanced sideways at her, the corner of his mouth tugging up slightly when he thought about why.

She was walking beside him, she was aware, she was Evelyn once more.

No matter what happened between them, that fact made him happier than anything had in years.

 

* * *

 

“Try again, little bird, it’s all right,” Dorian called, twirling his staff and digging his feet into the dirt of the courtyard.

“Remember, just focus,” Marian added from a bench to the side of the sparring grounds. She was sitting with Fenris, wearing a loose shirt and breeches, resting her hand on her growing stomach. It was becoming more obvious, her cheeks plumping slightly as well, constantly rosy and glowing. Every time he saw her, Cullen couldn’t resist teasing her, feeling more prone to laughter and joking now.

His gaze swiveled back to where Evelyn stood facing Dorian, her own staff dipping and dragging in the dirt as she tried to steady herself. She looked frustrated, and he wished desperately that there was something he could say to reassure her, to encourage her to keep at it.

No matter how hard she tried, her barrier just wouldn’t stay for longer than a few moments before it fizzled out. Dorian was a patient teacher, and Marian called encouragements and advice from the bench, but Cullen felt out of place. He watched her practice daily, though, unable to let there be a time she was out of his sight, a moment when he wasn’t somehow trying to help her get better.

Even if he currently felt useless.

“I’m impressed she’s made it this far,” Rylen said from beside him, his hands clasped behind his back. “I wasn’t quite certain what to expect.”

Cullen glanced sidelong at him and then sighed as he returned his gaze to where Evelyn was trying once more to cast a barrier around herself to deflect Dorian’s incoming bolt from his staff.

“She was always an impressive mage,” he murmured, folding his arms before his chest. He felt an odd pride as he said it, thinking about how she had used her magic in Kirkwall, before. He had faith she could get back to that point, easily. All she needed was practice, just as she was doing now.

“Aye, so it would seem,” Rylen agreed. “I was worried, you know. But I’m happy to see she’s adjusting. The lass is far stronger than I thought, I – I can see why you care for her so much.”

Cullen smirked, watching as Evelyn managed to keep her barrier up long enough to deflect Dorian’s attack. He clapped along with Marian and the others, beaming as he felt pride swell in his chest.

She was doing better.

After her practice in the courtyard they retired to his tower, and he worked through reports and requisitions to prepare for the next day’s war council as she read a book of poems beside him. It made him smile, remembering when they used to lay in bed together and read poetry – it was even the same collection of poems.

As he worked he glanced her way, enjoying the peaceful silence they were sitting in. It was more comfortable, more soothing than the silence he had had in the last few years, and the sight of her curled up in a chair on the other side of the desk reading for leisure pleased him. He looked up from his work more often than he should, just content to see her there, near him. Occasionally she caught his eye, and a soft smile tugged up the corners of her mouth before she went back to her reading.

He hadn’t ever thought he could experience this happiness ever again.

When he finished his work for the night he stood and stretched, and she folded the corner of her page and looked up at him. “Are you retiring for the night?” she asked softly, and at his nod she smiled and set her book aside.

He locked the doors to his office as was his habit, and waited for her to ascend the ladder before he followed. Taking off his armor, he hung it carefully on its stand before he stripped out of his shirt. Behind him he could hear her moving around, changing into her night shift as she always did.

It had been routine for years, but now it felt more intimate, even if they were retiring to different beds. Just the fact of her presence soothed him, and he smiled softly to himself as he moved around the loft, getting ready to retire.

He climbed into his bed, getting settled in the middle of it. For over two weeks he hadn’t really slept, worried about what she may encounter in the Fade, what nightmares she might have as she readjusted. Now that it was becoming evident that she was all right, he wondered if he would finally be able to find some rest.

“Cullen?”

He glanced to the side at her soft murmur, surprised to see her standing beside the bed. She looked hesitant, and he wasn’t quite sure what to say as her eyes roamed over his large bed.

“Are you – are you all right?” he asked, pushing himself up on his elbows as he peered up at her.

She didn’t answer, instead chewing her bottom lip for a moment before she lifted the covers on the bed and slid beneath them. His heart raced as she scooted closer to him, her gaze lifting to his tentatively before she pressed herself to his side. He laid back, trying to stay calm as she settled against him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Is this – is this all right?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“Of course, Evelyn,” he murmured, wrapping an arm around her shoulder as she nestled against him.

She rested her hand on his bare chest, her leg reaching across him, her heel digging in between his thigh and the bed to secure her like an anchor. When she snuggled closer, rubbing her face against his chest, he felt his heart race and his insides flutter.

The sleep he had hoped to find took longer than he expected as he simply tightened his hold on her and buried his nose against her hair. Soon her deep breathing was all he could hear, and he laid awake as he enjoyed her soft warmth pressed against him.

She was back in his arms, she had sought out his comfort for sleep, just as she used to. It was familiar, the feeling of light weight on his shoulder from her head, the way her warm breath tickled the light dusting of hair on his chest each time she exhaled.

Peace as he had never expected to feel again washed over him, and gradually his eyes relaxed and he slipped into the first dreamless, uninterrupted sleep he had had in years.


	14. I Still Love You Though, I Still Love You Always

“Cullen, do you need some fresh air?”

He glanced down, lowering the hand that was tugging at his collar of his uniform. Evelyn was standing beside him, peering up with an anxious look on her face, her brows furrowed sharply. She looked regal in her red uniform, which Leliana and Josephine had insisted on if she was to accompany them.

And he had insisted that she accompany them.

He still refused to let her out of his sight, even though she was doing well, even though it had been weeks without anything to worry about but mood swings. She had begun sleeping in his bed, her small form curled against his, her head resting on his shoulder. She slept peacefully, and so did he, now that her warmth and the scent of rain lulled him to sleep every night.

Years of nightmares and memories of everything that had happened keeping him up were suddenly a thing of the past. He hoped that it would last, but even just a temporary reprieve, being able to enjoy her in his arms again, was enough for the time being.

Even though things were going well, he had refused to leave her behind. What if something happened to her while he was gone, what if she needed him? He couldn’t stand the thought of leaving her behind, and so despite the danger, despite how little he wanted to be at Halamshiral himself, he had brought her with them.

Now, he was torn between being glad that he had and apprehension that something could happen to her. There was a crowd of nobles gathered around them, making passing remarks at him while eyeing the small woman who stood quietly, but closely, beside him. Masks obscured their expressions as well, but he didn’t like the way they seemed to be looking at Evelyn.

It was somewhere between disdain and curiosity, a few of them even looking her up and down with interest, and he felt his heart racing and his hands shaking more than they already were. No matter how uncomfortable he was himself, he was on edge, feeling the urge to protect, to rush her out of the ballroom.

Maybe he shouldn’t have brought her with them.

“Cullen, did you hear me?” she asked quietly, and he noticed a certain wavering in her voice, like she was concerned, or afraid.

“I am – I am fine, my lady,” he murmured, addressing her as they had agreed before arriving. The Grand Game was complicated and dangerous enough without adding in speculation about her, about a Trevelyan noble with the Inquisition. She had spent time ensuring that the hair covering her forehead would remain in place, so that no one could see the brand on her forehead.

“Are you certain, Commander?” she whispered, and where he thought the title would grate on his nerves all night, the fact that there was emotion behind it suddenly made him glad to hear the word.

How much had changed in just over a month.

“Yes, thank you, my lady,” he answered. “I am just – hot. And I should have had this jacket let out a bit. Maker’s breath.”

To his delight, she giggled.

After years without the sound, it was like pure heaven, and his heart soared and suddenly he felt less nervous. If she could stand here beside him, in the middle of an assassination plot, looking up at him so tenderly and giggling at him, then perhaps things were going to be all right.

Perhaps they were already more than all right.

He had still refrained from any sort of contact, letting her seek him out for comfort but refusing to try for anything more. She sought his comfort, she reached for his hand and held it, or slipped it into his when she walked beside him. And he always tightened his grip on her fingers, gently squeezing to reassure her, to enjoy the feeling of her skin on his. But when she raised a curious look to his face, he would release her and clear his throat, not allowing himself the hope that was trying to take root in his chest.

He no longer deserved her, and he found himself uncertain if he had ever deserved her in the first place, all those years ago, all those years that he had been selfish and let himself give in to his love for her. Now, he could grant her succor, provide her comfort as she readjusted.

He could not – would not – allow himself to think of anything more.

Evelyn shifted beside him, as if she was trying to see another part of the ballroom, but as she leaned closer her hand brushed his, the back of her knuckles giving his a soft caress. The contact was shocking, but it wasn’t because of the tingling that always accompanied her touch.

It was the realization that in that moment, she wasn’t seeking his comfort. She was giving him hers.

He was unworthy of it, but his heart still sped up, his mouth suddenly dry. The desire to take her hand and squeeze it nearly overwhelmed him. His eyes absently roamed over the nobles in front of him and he reminded himself that whether or not he was deserving of her comfort wasn’t the issue at the moment.

They were in the middle of danger, and he couldn’t give anything away, for her sake.

He cleared his throat and looked over the ballroom, searching once more for anything suspicious. But the subtle gesture, the soft, unspoken support she had given him did much to bolster his mood. He felt more focused, no longer so apprehensive. She was beside him once more, doing what she could to comfort him, much as she used to.

A steadying breath, and then another, before he glanced down at her. She greeted him with a subtle smile, the soft tugging at the corner of her lips incredibly familiar to him, even though it had been years since he had seen it.

A secret smile, one she had saved for when they were among others, when they had had to hide their deep, abiding affection and love for one another. A smile that she only gave him, one reserved for his eyes alone.

Maker, he had missed the sight of it.

 

* * *

 

“That was infuriating,” Evelyn grumbled beside him, and when he glanced down at her he saw her fists clenched, her jaw clenched as well.

“What?” he asked, his brows furrowing. “We – we succeeded, we saved the Empress. Everything is all right -”

“Not that,” she interrupted, looking up at him with a curiously determined gleam in her eyes. “Those nobles, the way they were acting about you. You were a Templar, a Knight-Commander, you’re the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces. Maker, the way they were – they were positively – oh, I can’t even find the right words for what they were doing.”

“I – I did not realize you were so upset by it,” Cullen frowned, turning to face her as he leaned an elbow on the balustrade beside him. “Are you all right? You – your control -”

“I am perfectly in control, thank you very much, Commander,” she snapped. “If I wasn’t in control, I would have blasted those damned masks right off them. The nerve of them, treating you that way. Why one of them tried to reach past me to grope you – I had to pass off the way I stepped on their foot as an accident.”

For a moment he simply stared at her, his mouth open slightly in his shock. And then he let out a short laugh, followed by another, until he dissolved into uncontrollable laughter, placing a hand on his stomach as he leaned over the edge of the balcony.

Soft giggles joined him, and she rested a hand on his arm, leaning against him as she shared in his mirth. She was peering up into his face, a wide smile on her face, a tender look in her eyes that he hadn’t seen in years, save for in dreams that haunted him every night.

Slowly his laughter died as he simply held her gaze, trying to drink in the sight of the love that was shining up at him in her pale eyes.

“Evelyn,” he almost whispered, his voice coming out like a croak. “I – I appreciate the comfort you were trying to give me. I – I know I dragged you along, I am certain you were uncomfortable -”

“Just for you,” she told him simply. “I know how much you hate such pompous, formal affairs. I – I was worried for you, I know there was a lot of stress involved tonight. Are you all right?”

“I -” he faltered, staring at her as if he couldn’t believe her words. “I was – I want to say that I was fine, but you are right. It was quite a bit of stress, tonight.”

Her hand squeezed where it was rested on his forearm. “I’m glad I was able to help,” she said. “I know bringing me along added to your stress, darling, but -”

“Darling?” his brows furrowed despite himself. Hearing the term of endearment pass her lips once more surprised him, but he wasn’t certain how he felt. His heart was torn between soaring and clenching painfully.

He didn’t deserve that word, but Maker was he happy to hear it once more.

“Yes,” she whispered, her gaze holding his. “You are – you are my darling, more dear to me than anything. You always have been, Cullen.”

“No, Evelyn, I – I no longer deserve that, I cannot be – cannot dare to hope -” he began to protest, but when she shook her head he stopped.

“Cullen, I – I missed you,” she told him. “Why do you think you no longer deserve me? I – I thought we were – we said _always_.”

Her words cut him to the core and he closed his eyes, pressing his lips together as he struggled against the feelings. He wanted it, more than anything. He wanted to allow himself to be selfish again, just as he had before, just as he had for years.

But he was no longer that man, no longer able to look past his many transgressions. She was pure goodness, a gentler soul than he had ever known, even after all these years, even after everything that had happened.

He was the last person alive who deserved her love.

“I – I cannot, Evelyn,” he said, his voice cracking. “I don’t – after everything I did, after everything I allowed to happen. After the way I treated you, when I was mad with grief -”

“All is forgiven, my love,” she told him, and he felt her hand slide to his shoulder, where she squeezed reassuringly once more before sliding it up to his neck. “Look at me, please.”

He released a sigh and opened his eyes, reluctantly turning his gaze to hers. Looking would mean seeing the tender plea in her eyes, but he couldn’t resist her gentle request.

Her eyes were shimmering in the moonlight, her brows furrowed ever so slightly as she stared up at him. There was the tiniest hint of pain in her eyes, and the sight of it tore through him, wracking him with guilt.

“Cullen -”

“Evelyn, I – I can never undo what I did, I can never forgive myself,” he murmured, his voice wavering. His eyes stung painfully, but he blinked rapidly, refusing to allow himself that show of emotion. He needed to be strong, because he couldn’t cave, couldn’t allow himself selfishness. She deserved so much better than him.

“You don’t have to forgive yourself, not yet,” she told him, stroking his jaw with her thumb. “It will take time. But I – I forgive you. You took care of me, Cullen. You protected me. You loved me, still, I could tell -”

“I treated you horribly, I – I tried to ki -” his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat as he looked over the dark gardens below them. “I – I used you, I – Maker, Evelyn, I forced a kiss on you -”

She hummed thoughtfully, lowering her hand to the balustrade as she looked out over the dark grounds as well. “True, you did. Once. And just a kiss. When I – well, I – if it had helped I would have let you, but – you didn’t press for more,” she murmured, her voice barely audible, halting and pensive. “You’re still a good man. You always have been, even in your darkest moments, even when you were tormented. I – I wish – please, let my forgiveness be enough for the both of us.”

He closed his eyes once more, absorbing her words, trying to let himself believe them. She was too good, too understanding, and he felt his resolve to deny himself her love and care slipping.

If she was willing to forgive, maybe he should allow her to, maybe he should allow himself to forgive as well.

“Evelyn, my – my -” but his voice choked on the word ‘love,’ uncertainty making one last attempt to persuade him not to give in.

She put her hand back on his forearm, and when he glanced at her he saw her staring with wonder behind her, toward the ballroom. A soft smile came across her face, and then she looked up at him. “They’re still playing music, I – I haven’t heard this waltz in years. My mother played it, when I was young, she told me one day when I was presented, I -” but she trailed off, the tiniest frown darkening her features.

He knew why, thinking of the childhood that had been stolen from her by the Circle, of the life and family she had missed out on. Covering her hand with his he rubbed circles with his thumb, wishing there was something he could do to make it up to her.

And then he realized there was something.

Pushing off the balustrade he tugged gently at the sash across his chest before he stepped back and bowed before her. “May I have this dance, my lady?” he asked, letting his mouth tug into a smile at the look of surprise that came across her face.

“I – I didn’t think you danced,” she said, but she eagerly took his hand and let him pull her into his arms.

“I don’t – but for you, I’ll try,” he told her, holding one hand in his, his other resting on her lower back as he began a slightly clumsy waltz.

Soft giggles poured from her throat, and when she looked up at him, all he saw was love reflecting at him from her lightning eyes. Instinctively he pulled the hand he held closer to him, until it rested where his heart was beating rapidly.

After everything he did, after everything they had both been through, she was still smiling at him like this, still forgiving and loving.

Still, after everything, she was Evelyn – the gentle, pure soul he had fallen in love with so long ago in Kirkwall.

“How can you still be so good, after all this time?” Cullen murmured, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb, cradling it against his chest. They had slowed their dancing, until they barely rotated, merely swaying on the spot as they held one another’s gaze.

“I have you,” she answered softly, but her voice was unwavering, firm in her assertion. “And when I have you, when I’m with you, I’m happy, because I have all I could ever want. I – I love you. I still love you, always.”

“I -” his breath caught in his throat, and he stopped rotating with her, stricken dumb to hear the words once more, the words he had longed to hear for so long. The words she had always spoken, since that first night.

_I love you._

_Always._

Doubt only gripped him for a moment longer before he slowly leaned down, his heart racing as he held her gaze, getting near until he could smell the rain that was so much a part of her being. When he was close enough her eyes fluttered shut, and her lips parted slightly.

Tingling greeted his lips when they met hers, the feeling acting like a balm on his soul, bringing back the memories of happiness, of blissful, tender love. His aching heart soared, and when she slid her hand from his shoulder to his cheek and parted her lips further he felt himself lost to the feeling.

She was his, still, after all this time. Loving, welcoming, caring. He tightened his hold on her, as if scared this feeling would slip through his fingers if he didn’t cling to it. It was gentle passion, and he felt her lean into him, breathless as his tongue tentatively searched for hers.

Response, emotion, tingling – they all worked together to help erase the last time he had kissed her, the horrible mistake he had made. Instead, her fingers were slipping into his hair, gently twisting as she seemingly tried to get as close to him as she could.

He didn’t want to pull away, but he finally remembered where they were, and with one last soft touch to her tongue as if to memorize the taste of her, he pulled away.

“I love you, Evelyn,” he breathed, cupping her cheek with his hand. “I always have, and I always will. If – if you’ll still have me.”

“Of course, darling,” she answered, and a tear slid down her cheek.

He wiped it away with his thumb, returning the tender smile she was giving him. “Come along, we should – we should find our room and get some rest. It was a long day.”

She nodded and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head before he released her to look around. Not a soul was in sight, which was reassuring, and he cleared his throat before he gestured for her to follow him.

 

* * *

 

Something tickled his face, warm breath ghosted his cheek before a subtle wetness pressed against it. Again, this time lower on his jaw, and again, at the corner of his mouth. He could tell, it was on his scar, and it happened several more times, in gentle succession.

“Cullen?” a soft voice called, and this time the warm breath was against his lips. “Love, wake up.”

His eyes fluttered open, and he was greeted with the sight of Evelyn leaning over him, her pale eyes shimmering in the moonlight streaming in through the window. For a moment he looked around, trying to get his bearings. If she was waking him up, he must have been having a nightmare, though he couldn’t remember what he had been dreaming of.

“I – I am sorry, Evelyn, was I having a nightmare? Did I wake you up?” he murmured, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. He thought he had been doing so well.

“No, darling, you weren’t – you were sleeping peacefully, I – I just -” she trailed off and bit her bottom lip as her gaze roamed over him. She was lying almost on his chest, as if they had gotten even closer in sleep, tangled up with one another.

“Is everything all right?” he lowered his hand so that he could more easily peer up at her, a frown coming across his face as his stomach clenched. Had _she_ had a nightmare? Had something disturbed her?

But there was an eager gleam in her eye, and she didn’t look bothered. At least, not in the way he expected her to be.

“Evelyn -”

She leaned down and gently pressed her lips to his, bracing herself with a hand on the pillow beside his head. Her kiss was hesitant at first, but then she slanted her mouth and deepened it as she parted her lips.

He returned her kiss, eager to taste her again, to feel her soft lips against his. Doubt came into his mind, though, and he gingerly pulled away, searching her face for a moment in silence.

“Are – I – Evelyn, we shouldn’t,” he told her, even though his heart ached to deny her.

“Cullen, I miss you,” she murmured, leaning down and kissing him gently on the forehead. “Please. I want to, I mean it, I – please, love.”

As she said it she hooked her leg on the other side of him and pulled herself over him, propping above him and staring down at him imploringly. He held her gaze, noticing it was full of nothing but love, still – tenderness, desire, passion shining down at him.

Maker, he wanted to as well. But she was still healing, she was still –

“I need you,” she breathed leaning down and brushing her lips against his. “I love you, I want you – please.”

He had always been a weak man.

Wrapping his arms around her he pulled her down to him and captured her lips with his, eagerly twisting his mouth as his tongue delved into her sweetness. He had resisted this for so long, had longed for it until he physically ached, unable to sate the desire at all. Only her, he had only wanted her, for years – no one else could ever be enough.

It was perfection, simply kissing her, languidly savoring the taste and feel of her, the subtle buzzing against his mouth. He held her to him, one arm wrapped tightly around her back, the other cradling her head, tangling his fingers in her hair. The scent of rain, the electric feeling of her skin, the sweet taste of her tongue on his, all came back to him as if out of a dream, reminding him so much of years past. With his eyes closed, he could almost be there, back in his small quarters, kissing her to his heart’s content until the dawn came.

But at that thought he opened his eyes and pulled away, staring up at her to reassure himself that he wasn’t in a dream, or a memory.

She smiled at him before she leaned back, reaching down to the hem of her night shift and pulling it swiftly over her head. It fell over the side of the bed with a whisper soft sound to mark its passing, but Cullen wouldn’t have noticed if it had landed with a crash.

All he could do was drink in the sight of her, bared above him, and she smiled down with smoky eyes as her fingers trailed down his chest. He reached a hand up and cradled one of her soft breasts, palming and caressing it, enjoying the feeling of her flesh in his grasp once more.

“Evelyn – Maker, you’re still so beautiful, you’re – you’re perfect,” he murmured, letting his hands wander over the skin he had thought about for far too long. Her eyes fluttered shut and her neck arched, a sharp inhale sounding through her teeth.

“C-Cullen,” she moaned, and after a moment she opened her eyes and shifted back slightly, her fingers beginning work on the laces of his sleep trousers. She moved slowly, teasingly, and he watched her keenly, anticipation flooding him as heat pooled in his belly.

When she had opened his trousers she slid a hand beneath the fabric, and the instant her fingers touched him he let out a groan. He was hard already, aching almost, just from her pleading words, her kiss, the sight of her naked, and the knowledge that she was here with him once more.

That she still loved him.

He helped her push his trousers down on his hips so that she could free his length, and she immediately wrapped her fingers around him, sliding her hand up and down. So familiar and longed for, and he clenched his eyes shut and simply tried to steady his breath as her fingers caressed him.

Impatience seized him. He had dreamed of this for far too long, had thought it would never happen again, and he kicked with his legs to work himself free of his trousers. As soon as he was bare he reached up to her and pulled her down on top of him once more, kissing her deeply and eagerly.

She lifted her hips, one hand still wrapped around his cock, and easily guided him to her. He hadn’t even really touched her, yet he could feel how wet and ready she was for him, and she slid him within her in one slow downward stroke. Pulling away from the kiss she let out a cry, and he peered into her face to search it for pain.

But she moaned his name like a sob and opened her eyes, a soft smile breaking her lips as she met his worried gaze. Before he could speak she began rocking herself on him, and his eyes shut as he clung to her more tightly with his arms wrapped around her. He twisted a hand into her short, silky hair and pulled her to him for another kiss, nearly feeling intoxicated by the way they were joined together.

She was his own personal heaven, tight and wet and tingling, just as he remembered. Her hips rolled against him, breathless gasps escaping against his devouring kiss. He slid his hands to her hips and gripped her, helping lift and guide her as his mouth moved to press greedy kisses to her neck.

Her pace was leisurely, like she was relishing the feeling of him, as if their union had been just as dearly missed by her as well. When her moans began to come more frequently, he wrapped an arm around her and rolled easily until she was on her back beneath him. He kept himself pressed flush against her, desperate for the feeling of her skin on his. Soft incoherent cries were greeting each of his deep thrusts, and her fingernails dug into his back as she tried to meet his passion with her own.

Long denied but not forgotten, the feeling of her beginning to throb and clench around him made him groan, and he buried his face against her neck. “Evelyn – I love you – I love you, always,” he panted.

“Cullen, I -” she began, but she lost herself, her back arching as she fell apart beneath him, a whimpering cry cutting off her words. Her hips bucked wildly against his, and he grabbed one of her hands and held it above her head as he was pushed to the edge in response.

His mind went white, blank, all thought of anything but the feeling of finding his release within her once more completely blocked out by pure sensation. When they finally stilled, he nuzzled his face into her hair, tightening his grip on the hand he held as he tried to fully comprehend the emotions crashing over him.

“I love you, always,” she murmured at last, her arms and legs wrapping around him to hold him close against her.


	15. So Hold Me When I'm Home, Keep the Evenings Long

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just took a little creative break, but don't worry. Updates on the way, this fic isn't over yet <3
> 
> xx,  
> Lara

“I think I felt one of them move.”

“One – _what?_ ” Hawke sat up straighter, her eyes wide as she stared between her husband beside her and Evelyn crouching before her. “What do you mean _one_ , Evelyn?”

“I – Marian, have you not checked this yourself?” Evelyn chided, laughing almost incredulously. She looked at where Cullen sat at the table, trying to bury his laughter into the mug of ale he was holding.

Evelyn and Hawke had insisted, saying they wanted to spend time together before he left, to have drinks together openly as they had never been able to in Kirkwall. He had relented quickly, noticing the happy gleam in Evelyn’s eyes when she suggested it to him. Her smile came often now, until she almost always looked as if she was glowing, pure joy emanating from her constantly.

“Marian, there’s two heartbeats,” Evelyn was saying, and he glanced at where she was softly channeling sage green healing magic into Marian’s round stomach. “You’re having twins.”

“Andraste’s tits,” Hawke breathed and then glanced at Fenris beside her. “Amatus, I – _two_ babies -”

Evelyn pushed herself to her feet and took her place beside Cullen once more, smiling sweetly at him as she did. He casually draped his arm across the back of her chair, lightly caressing her shoulder with his hand. It felt so natural, and she settled back against him as they watched their friends try to absorb the news.

“I – I thought Fen was just feeding me too much,” Hawke finally said, shaking her head as she reached for her husband’s hand.

Fenris chuckled into his tankard of ale. “I tried to tell you, amatus, I did not think it was just your newfound obsession with potatoes.”

“Twins,” Hawke muttered again. “I should have known, really, considering Mother had Bethany and Carver. Maker, we need more space in the cottage, we need -”

“It will be fine, Marian,” Fenris assured her, but he seemed unable to stop smiling. It was a rare sight, Cullen wasn't entirely certain he had ever really seen him smile before, but now his face was lit up with a bright smile. “Besides, we won’t make it back for a while now, you should not travel.”

“Oh, that,” Marian sighed and glanced at Cullen. “Seems I’ve overstayed my limit. Hopefully it isn’t too much to ask that we remain here, Curly? At least until the baby – _babies_ – come?”

“That would be wonderful,” Evelyn chimed in before he could, turning a smile up to him. “I could help, make sure it all goes smoothly. Don’t you think, darling?”

Cullen shrugged. “I don’t see why not,” he mused, but then he gave Hawke a lazy smirk. “Although I am not quite certain how I feel about there being three Hawkes in Skyhold, but considering their size they should not be able to cause too much damage. I suppose you can stay as long as you need to.”

Hawke playfully scrunched her nose at him but chuckled at his teasing. They all fell into a comfortable silence, and Cullen took a deep drink of ale before he glanced down at Evelyn beside him. She was still smiling softly, leaning back against his arm looking perfectly content.

Across the table Marian pursed her lips, her twinkling hazel eyes roaming over them, taking note of the way his arm was resting intimately on Evelyn’s chair. “I will say, it’s nice to see you two stopped being such fools,” she commented nonchalantly. “I was beginning to wonder if I needed to spell it out for you.”

Cullen scowled at her, but Evelyn simply giggled. He cleared his throat and glanced into his mug. “She needed time, Hawke, surely you knew that -”

“Oh please,” Hawke rolled her eyes. “You forget I know you, Curly, and you would have kept yourself wallowing in self-loathing forever if Evelyn wasn’t Evelyn. I’m assuming you made the first move, hm?”

This last was directed at Evelyn, and Hawke pointedly ignored the glare Cullen was giving her as she waited for confirmation from Evelyn. Beside him Evelyn blushed slightly but then she burst into giggles and nodded. “You’re right, Marian, he would have,” she looked up at Cullen, but beneath the teasing in her tone was something soft, tender understanding shining in her pale eyes. “Luckily, I don’t intend to let him.”

“Good,” Hawke agreed. She finally met Cullen’s gaze and gave him a reassuring smile, a surprisingly kind look in her hazel eyes. “He deserves to be happy. You both do.”

Cullen grumbled slightly and shifted, avoiding the encouragement his friend was offering. “Impending motherhood has changed you, Hawke,” he teased, trying to distract from the way her words were tugging at something inside him. “Better watch out or you will lose your edge.”

“I could still take you, Curly, even carrying twins,” she quipped, resting her hands on her round belly.

The table dissolved into laughter, the four friends swapping jokes, stories, comfortable and relaxed in each other’s company. For Cullen it felt like being back in the Hanged Man all those years ago, spending time with Hawke and her companions. Only this time, Evelyn was actually able to sit beside him, and he wasn’t hurrying his time spent with friends to get back to await her sneaking into his quarters for the night.

When he finally noticed how dark it was outside the windows of the Herald’s Rest he sighed and rubbed Evelyn’s shoulder. “We should get going, love, I leave early in the morning.”

She looked slightly disappointed but nodded. “You’re right,” she agreed. “Besides, Mama Hawke needs to get some rest, I’m sure.”

“Oh no, please – no, that is not becoming a thing -” Hawke protested, but the other three simply laughed as she glowered at them.

“Come along, Mama Hawke,” Fenris said, his tone mockingly stern. “We should get you to bed, she’s right -”

“If you’re not careful, amatus, I’ll -” Hawke began as her husband helped her to her feet.

“You’ll what, waddle my direction? Come along, Marian,” he chuckled, taking her arm in his. “These two lovebirds have goodbyes to say, we shouldn’t keep them with our old, boring, married ways.”

“I hate you all,” Hawke grumbled, but she smiled at where Cullen was helping Evelyn to her feet. “Be safe, Curly. I’d hate to have to go into the Fade again to drag you out of it for poor Evelyn’s sake. And you know I would.”

Cullen shook his head and smirked. “I will do my best, Hawke,” he assured her, and he squeezed Evelyn’s fingers where he held them. When he glanced down at her he noticed her brows were furrowed slightly, and he knew she was thinking about the worries she had expressed to him.

But it was for the best, he was certain of it, and he had insisted. Everything would be fine.

“Yes, well, I’ve never been good with goodbyes, so,” Hawke trailed off for a moment and then shrugged. “See you around, Curly.”

With that she turned around and began to slowly push her way through the crowded tavern. Fenris gave them both a curt nod before he followed his wife, catching up to her and placing a hand gently on her back.

“I’m so glad to see them finally so happy,” Evelyn commented wistfully. “I know how much she always loved him, I’m – I’m happy she has some measure of peace, now.”

“As long as that will last, with twins on the way,” Cullen mused wryly. They both laughed for a moment before he took her hand and began to lead her through the crowd.

Skyhold was still bustling, considering the preparations being made for the next day. Cullen had hurried through his work earlier in the day, trying to arrange as much as he could before he left someone else in charge. In the off chance that things didn’t go to plan, he couldn’t stand the thought that he spent what could potentially be his last night with her buried in work.

Instead he led her to the tower and up the ladder to the loft, ignoring the pull of work and duty. His men were capable, he did not need to babysit them as they prepared for the journey. The Inquisition could spare him for the night before it stole him away from her for weeks – if he was lucky.

They collided with tender passion, their hands pulling at one another’s clothing until they were bare, and Cullen lifted her easily and laid her back on the bed. Every night since the Winter Palace they had spent re-familiarizing themselves with one another’s bodies, falling eagerly into old habits and fervor for one another.

He slid his mouth over her skin, his hands caressing her slightly rougher than he meant to in his need, in the unspoken doubt that was guiding his actions. She was left breathless under his attention, whispering his name and soft pleas as he teased her with wet kisses along the inside of her thighs. If this was his last night with her, he wanted to savor every moment of it, wanted to spend it worshipping her.

When he finally slid his tongue along her she cried out and twisted her hands into his hair, softly begging him for more. He eagerly led her to her release before he pulled away to let her rest, but he hardly waited to bury his face in her again, and she quickly fell apart on his tongue a second time as she sobbed for mercy.

“Cullen – please, love -”

“I still have so much lost time to make up for, Evelyn,” he murmured as he stretched over her and easily slid himself inside her. “Maker – love, I love you, I love you -”

“Always,” she breathed, holding his cheeks in her hands, and she kissed him greedily. “Always, darling, always.”

He was lost in her, his senses full of rain and the tingling feel of her skin against his. The union of their bodies had never felt so right, and he tried to push aside the thought that it could be the last, that he may leave her alone if they failed. Those thoughts were too painful, and he tried to forget them as he focused instead on the feeling of her around him, the soft cries she made each time he moved within her.

“Love – yes, yes,” she gasped, digging her fingers into his hips as she responded desperately to his thrusts with her own. “I’m – Cullen, I – love you -”

She cut off in a cry, her back arching as she fell apart around him, and a moment later he followed her over the edge with a deep moan, his mind going blank. It felt like ages before he came back to his senses, collapsed on top of her and nearly suffocating her in his exhaustion, his attempt to remain as close to her as possible.

“Evelyn,” he finally managed to say. “Please, promise me that -”

“Don’t,” she murmured. “Please, please don’t, Cullen. I love you, always. Please I – I don’t want to think about it.”

He raised his head with effort, propping himself on an elbow to peer down at her. “No, dearest, listen,” he pleaded, managing to keep his voice even. “If I do not – if I do not come back -”

She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her lips together and shaking her head. “Don’t, I can’t -”

“Love, look at me, please,” he implored her.

Her pale eyes were shining with unshed tears when she opened them to meet his gaze, and the sight tore through him. “Cullen -” she began, but her voice caught in her throat and she seemed unable to continue.

“If I do not return,” he began again, tenderly brushing her hair off of her face as he spoke. The brand was there, a glaring reminder of everything they had already been through. Was this to be their fate, reunited so that they could just be torn apart once more? He took a deep breath and tried to give her a reassuring smile. “Promise me you will find happiness, Evelyn. Promise me you will keep going, that you will live -”

“There is no life without you,” she murmured, and tears finally slid down her cheeks unheeded. “Promise me you’ll come back, love. Please, I can’t – I can’t – not without you.”

“You know I will do my best, dearest,” he assured her. “But I – please, I need to know you will carry on, that you will not give up without me. I want you to be happy.”

She pressed her lips together and clenched her eyes shut, tears still streaming down her cheeks. “I promise,” she murmured. “Just – please – please don’t make me. I only just got you back.”

“I know, love,” he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her cheek, kissing away the tear sliding down it. “I know. And I love you, always.”

“I love you – always,” she repeated, and she opened her eyes and met his gaze, a fierce gleam shining in the lightning depths. “You can’t make a widow out of me yet, Cullen Stanton Rutherford – not before you’ve actually had the decency to marry me. Understood?”

For a moment he stared at her, his mouth agape as he absorbed her words. “I – of course not, dearest,” he smiled and cupped the side of her head with his large hand. “When I get back, I promise you – you will be Mrs. Cullen Stanton Rutherford, and we will start on that family we always wanted.”

“You better, love,” she quietly asserted, her voice watery but firm. “I’ll hold you to it, if I have to drag you from the Fade myself to make it happen -”

“You and Hawke both,” he teased, and his grin widened when he saw the corners of her mouth twitch in a smile. “Now please – I have only a few more hours before dawn, and I intend to use them the best way I know – buried deep inside you.”

Her lips finally parted in a smile and she wrapped her arms around him. “I approve,” she murmured, and he leaned down to capture her mouth with his.

  

* * *

 

Everything was loaded, the preparations made, the men lined up and ready to begin the march. Cullen looked over the full courtyard and took a deep breath, trying to will himself to give the order. He thought about the passionate kisses goodbye he had stolen from Evelyn, again pushing aside his doubts that it could be the last time, wondering if they had been adequate, if they were enough, just in case.

He cleared his throat and resisted the urge to go find her once more, to push through the crowd to where she was standing on the stairs to the battlements watching. When he glanced her way he saw her with her arms folded, trying to hold her head high as she watched him. He wanted to pull her into his arms, he wanted to seek her out again, to never let her go.

Instead he turned and raised his arm and gave the order.

The whole day they rode he patrolled along the caravan before returning to the front to lead, doing his best to ensure that the Inquisition was safe and without trouble. His mind was surprisingly sharp, focused, the idea of protecting her and doing what he could to secure Thedas and their future together driving him forward. They would succeed – they – _he_ – had to. He had promised her a life, a family, and he intended to make good on that promise.

He wanted more than anything to make good on that promise.

When night fell they made camp, and once things were settled he found himself patrolling the camp to make certain the perimeter was secured before he retired. A small figure with their hood up was tying their horse to a tree, slightly separate from the rest of camp. He frowned, recognizing the movement of the gloved hands, the way they reached up to pat the neck of their black steed.

_No, damn it – Maker, no –_

“Evelyn,” he greeted, but it came out like a barked accusation.

The figure jumped and spun to face him, and reluctant hands reached up to lower the hood.

“What in the name of Andraste are you -”

“Cullen, please,” she began, taking a few hurried steps forward to meet him. “I couldn’t – I couldn’t let you face this alone.”

“Damn it, Evelyn,” he snapped and he ran his gloved hand over the lower half of his face. “I made you promise, I asked you to -”

“No, you made me promise about what I would do if you didn’t come back,” she interrupted, gesturing a finger at the ground to emphasize her words. “You only tried to insist that I stay at Skyhold, you didn’t make me promise to.”

“It – it was implied,” he argued, his insides twisting. He hadn’t wanted her to come, hadn’t wanted her to put herself in danger or risk harm by coming with them. He had intended for her to stay, to await his return.

“But never explicitly -”

“Evelyn, this – you could die, you will be in harm’s way, a distraction -”

“I’m not useless! I can defend myself -”

“It is my duty to protect you, I cannot -”

“Please, love,” she raised her voice and took a step toward him. “Please, it’s – it’s too late now, I’m already here with you. Let me stay, let me come with you, let me fight by your side. I can’t bear the thought of you facing this alone. If you – if you fall in battle, let me fall too -”

“No,” he croaked, shaking his head in denial. “Do not – do not say that -”

“Cullen, I can help,” she insisted. “I’m not a useless maiden, I’m more than capable. You know I am, you know I’ve gotten better, that I have everything under control again. Let me – let me stay with you. Let us face this together. Please.”

He gritted his teeth, his cheeks sucking in as he looked around, trying to fight the way his hands were shaking with his anger. She was supposed to stay behind, she wasn’t supposed to come with them. It had been his plan to protect her, unable to bear the thought of losing her as the Inquisition made its final push.

But she was right, she was here now, and he couldn’t send her back on her own, it wasn’t safe. She was coming along, it seemed, whether he wanted her to or not.

“I – I brought the oakmoss and elderflower cream if you need it, love,” she murmured as she finished closing the distance between them. She was gazing up at him hesitantly, as if she was worried he was furious with her, waiting to see what his reaction would be.

He sighed and chuckled despite himself, shaking his head. “Trying to bribe me, dearest?” he teased.

“Only a little,” she confessed, a smirk coming across her face. “Shall we retire for the night, or do you still have work to do?”

“I need to finish my patrols,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked around.

“Let me come with you and then we can retire,” she told him, smiling sweetly as she took his hand. She peered up at him, waiting for him to lead the way.

He heaved a sigh but set out once more, finishing his rounds of the camp, ensuring the patrols were set and the perimeter manned adequately. When he was satisfied that things were arranged properly he led her to his tent, and once inside she shrugged off her traveling cloak and the satchel she was carrying.

He frowned as he watched her, noticing that she was wearing heavier, unfamiliar armor, and the traveling cloak was different from the one she had worn on the way to Halamshiral. “Evelyn,” he began slowly. “Who helped you sneak into the caravan?”

“Hm?” she hummed, raising her eyebrows as she looked up. But he could tell there was a shiftiness behind her eyes, and she was avoiding his gaze as best she could.

“Evelyn, did – did Hawke and Fenris help you sneak out of Skyhold?” he questioned slowly.

She pursed her lips as she carefully unpacked a few of her belongings, as if she was thinking hard while she did. “I – I may have borrowed a few things from Marian -”

“I’m going to kill her,” he gritted out, dragging a hand across his brow as he ground his teeth together, eyes clenched tightly shut.

“Please, love – I asked, blame me,” she cooed, and he could tell she had stepped forward until she was standing before him. “She was just helping me do what I felt I needed to. I asked her to help me, I told her I couldn’t let you go alone. Don’t be angry with her, please.”

He peeked an eye open to glower at her, but the tender look in her eyes melted his icy demeanor until he reluctantly sighed and looked around. “Fine,” he muttered. “I will only scold her a little, upon our return.”

“Good,” she agreed with a happy smile and shrug of her shoulders. “Now, do you need me to help you with the cream, love? I’m sure you’re in pain after traveling all day.”

“I – Evelyn, I do not need -” he began to protest, but she frowned and he stopped.

“You need to be in top condition, love,” she chided gently. “I need you making it through this.”

She was determined, he could tell, and he heaved a heavy sigh before he nodded, relenting to her insistence. “Fine, Evelyn,” he murmured.

Her sweet smile returned as she lifted her fingers to the fastenings of his mantle and armor to help him remove the pieces and hang them on his armor stand. When he was down to his breeches she teasingly slipped her fingers into the waist and snapped the leather against his skin. “These too, love,” she instructed.

He smirked at the twinkle in her eye, forgetting his anger upon seeing the tender mischief in her lightning eyes. How could he stay angry when she was standing in front of him, so lively in her insistence that she remain by his side, that she take care of him and fight beside him?

Sliding the breeches off he kicked them aside and took his place on the cot, resting his head on his forearms as he stretched out. She was so tiny the cot barely groaned under her weight when she straddled his rear, and he realized she had stripped down as well until it seemed she was only wearing her loose linen blouse.

“Poor love, riding all day in that heavy armor,” she murmured as she began to spread the oakmoss and elderflower cream across his back. “How are you feeling with your withdrawals?”

“I – I am fine, Evelyn,” he assured her, moaning as she worked out a kink in his right shoulder.

She hummed slightly as if she didn’t quite believe him, but she didn’t say anything else. It wasn’t exactly a lie, he was fine – beyond feeling stressed, achy, and now concerned she had snuck along. What they were trying to attempt made him nervous, making their final push against Corypheus’ forces, desperately hoping that this was the end of it.

But she was stubborn, she always had been when she decided something was important enough to her. He should have realized she wouldn’t let him leave her behind, and if he was truly honest with himself, he was glad that she had come along. It had nothing to do with the way his shoulders were loosening under her careful ministrations, but instead had to do with the fact that she was right.

They should face this together, since they could, since they were free to take on all of life’s trials side by side now. How different that felt than years past, both Kirkwall and once they were separated by the Rite.

He frowned as he thought it, suddenly filled with recollections of her doing this for him, dull grey eyes meeting his when he turned to look up at her. An odd panic seized him, and he turned so that he could look at her.

“Cullen, I wasn’t done,” she scolded, but she burst into giggles at the way she was shifted by the movements of his hips. “Let me -”

But he wrapped an arm around her waist and in the same swift movement rolled them so that she was beneath him. She squealed and giggled more loudly, her legs flailing and becoming tangled with his. _This_ was her, smiling and laughing in response to him, staring up at him with confusion but also playful tenderness.

“What?” she asked, her brow furrowed slightly as she let her eyes roam over his face. “Something the matter? You look -”

“I just had a better idea, that is all, dearest,” he assured her, and he slid his free hand up the blouse she wore to seek out her breast. “After all, since you decided to go against my wishes and come along – we may as well enjoy the opportunities presented, don’t you think?”

“I – I agree – oh, Cullen,” she whispered breathlessly as her eyelashes fluttered over her eyes. “I agree completely, love.”

“I thought you might,” he murmured, leaning forward to press a teasing kiss to her lips.

Maybe the journey wouldn’t be so difficult after all.

**Author's Note:**

> As of March 17, 2019 (well before that, but that's the date of this note) this work is currently on indefinite hiatus. Unfortunately my Cullen muse decided with only a few chapters left to abandon me, so hopefully if he makes an appearance I can wrap this up. Until then, there won't be any updates.


End file.
